


Gifts Of Home

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Other Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Two ships pass in the night; they leave more than dark and silence behind them. Crossover, Firefly. Multiple het and slash pairings. (2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 1) Firefly: 'Objects in Space'; 'Out of Gas'; 'Shindig'; 'War Stories' and 'Serenity'; 2) Enterprise: 1.24 "Desert Crossing." All spoilers are minor, and will not ruin your viewing pleasure.  
  
Pairings: 1) Slash: Trip/Mal; Simon/Jayne; 2) Het: Zoe/Wash (natch); Inara/Jon; Kaylee/Travis; Hoshi/Malcolm  
  
This fic should serve as a dire warning to anyone who thinks they can combine 16 characters and _not_ end up with a gorram epic. We've been writing this for daysâ€”days, we tell you. Consider this our Holiday present to you, our dear listsibs. Merry Everything! And let's hope Santa brings Firefly back in the new-year. No Washes, Zoes, Malcolms (either), Simons, Jaynes or Jonathans were actually hurt during the making of this fic. The jellyfish will need a vacation, however. With much thanks to Lara Bee for the use of 'Crystal,' the wonderful burn-healing jellyfish. You may read Crystal's adventures in Lara's Mirage series on the EntSTSlash archive. This one is a slightly AU version of the critter.  
  
For the hell of it, we've thrown in fun quotes from all over the place, including: TOS, a Trek flick or two, Shakespeare, WWII Propaganda, Joss (the God) himself, a certain cheesy theme song, obscure musicals and even Squeaky's high school yearbook. What can we say? We're unrepentant thieves. They say plagiarism is the sincerest form of flattery (yeah, rightâ€”explain that to your University English prof). How many can _you_ find, dear Reader?  
  
This fic contains both heterosexual and homosexual situations. If either one really squicks you, read no further. Don't say we didn't warn you. Permission was granted from Denise and Steel for Firefly_Slash and Sarah for he two Enterprise lists, to post a fic with both slash and het pairings. We are good, we asked!  


* * *

"Hwuu-dan!" Mal shouted, "Wash, can't you get these tah-mah-duh Reavers off our ass?"

Wash didn't even spare him a glance, hands flying over _Serenity's_ controls. "In case you hadn't noticed, Captain," he said tightly, "they're flying a bigger ship with bigger engines. Bigger, faster engines. Much faster engines. With weapons. We have none of the above."

Mal slammed his fist against the ceiling, then keyed the comm panel. "Kaylee," he took a deep breath, kept his voice calm in order not to spook the girl, "can you maybe get us a bit more power?"

"I'm givin' her all she's got, Cap'n," Kaylee's voice came back high and scared, "the engines're stressed as it is. She can't take much more of this!"

"She can and she will, Kaylee." The captain replied tersely, "'lessen you don't mind all of us to be wearin' a lot less skin.

There was a pause, then, "I'll do my best, Cap'n." The girl's voice sounded thin with fright and Mal grimaced, but there was no time for niceness. He turned back to Wash, eyes sliding to the slight, dark-haired girl standing at the pilot's right shoulder. "River," he snapped, "thought I told you to get."

River tugged at Wash's sleeve again. "Wash," she said.

Wash ignored her, ducking involuntarily as another torpedo blew by so close to the canopy, Mal could have sworn he felt heat through the hull. "Go-se!" he swore, "Wash!"

"I'm doing my gorram best, Mal," Wash said calmly. River tugged at his sleeve again. He tried to shrug her off.

"River!" Mal yelled.

"Wash," River said.

"Mal!" Wash barked, He jerked his head towards River. "I don't exactly have time for this!"

Another torpedo exploded beneath them. The force of the blast rocked the ship, causing Mal to stumble. River, he noted, didn't even lose her balance. She tugged on Wash's sleeve again.

"Wash," she said.

"Mal," Wash's voice was full of warning. Mal thumbed on the comm.

"Simon," he said, pausing to hear the affirmation that Simon was listening, "could you maybe find your way up to the bridge? Your sister needs some distractin'."

Simon's tone was brusque. "I'm trying to stitch up Jayne's hand, captain. He's a little distressed by the Reavers' proximity. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Yeah, well." Mal responded, "I'm sure we're all a mite 'distressed', doc. Thing is, Wash can't do his job with her pokin' at him, and I don't think you'd be wantin' me to throw her out, myself." His voice became hard, "come get her. Now."

Simon's irritated sigh was clear over the comm. "Fine."

Wash swung the ship around in a tight half-circle. Mal was pushed sideways, catching himself against the bulkhead to stay upright. Over the view-screen, Mal could see the Reavers' ship lose a bit of ground, then gracefully turn to once-again land on their tail. They had painted the front of their ship to look like the mouth of some kind of animal: All sharp and fanged. Mal noted absently that the design made it look like _Serenity_ was about to be eaten alive. Very effective. Wash was jerking back and forth in his seat from the inertia of the turn. River swayed gracefully. Like a dancer.

"They're getting too damn close, Wash." Mal said.

"Thank you so much for pointing that out, captain." Wash snarled back. "And here I was thinking I was doing so well."

A third torpedo creased by, nearly close enough to put a hole right through Inara's shuttle. The explosion rocked the ship, hard. Mal was thrown against the wall again, bounced off and hit the floor. River slipped to her knees. Wash's head careened off the control panel, and Mal winced at the sound. He thanked the Reavers for their lousy aim—then realized that it was on purpose; they would want _Serenity_ intact.

"Ow." Wash said. He held a hand to his head, shaking it as if to clear it. He leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Hey," he said weakly, "are those grapplers?"

"Tzao-gao," Mal breathed. He closed his eyes.

River reached up to tug on Wash's sleeve. "Wash," her voice was eerily calm.

Wash turned to her, blinking. "What?"

River's face was earnest. "Watch the hole."

There was a _thump!_ pretty much like the end of the world. _Grapplers_ Mal thought.

Then the ship pitched violently forward. Mal was lifted from the floor and slammed backwards into the bulkhead. He went under in a burst of light and pain.

* * *

"Fine." Simon thumbed off the comm. He sighed and turned back to Jayne. "Will you hold still? And move your gun."

"Why you botherin' with my hand, doc?" Jayne said. He snatched his bleeding hand back for a fifth time. He kept the large rifle across his lap. "We're all gonna die anyhow."

Simon pulled his hands back, so the needle and clamps he was holding wouldn't accidentally touch Jayne and lose their sterility. He forced himself to control his temper and took a deep breath. "Then why did you come here, if you don't want my help?"

Jayne looked chagrined. "Kaylee kicked me outta the engine room. Said I was fussin'. Said I was bleedin' all over the place."

Simon glanced down at the deep laceration on Jayne's hand. "Well, you are. You need stitches."

"Better that way." He grunted. "Better bleedin' out then the Reavers get ya."

Simon reached for Jayne's hand with three fingers as he held the clamps with the needle clear. "We don't know that." He balanced the back of Jayne's hand on his fingertips, and dipped the needle down towards the torn flesh.

Jayne looked at him. "Yes we do." He pulled his hand away.

"Jayne!" Simon cried, exasperated, "you'll need two good hands if we have to fight them."

"Fightin' won't do no damn good, nohow." Jayne muttered. He was staring at his hand. "Doc," he said suddenly, voice quiet; "you think it's cowardly, maybe puttin' a bullet through your skull?"

Simon went still. "You mean, kill yourself?"

"Instead of lettin' them get me."

Simon's mind flashed back to the settler's ship. The children's toys scattered on the deck. The flayed corpses hanging from the ceiling. The men and women who had been raped to death. The one, pathetic, hopeless survivor. The boy had mutilated his own face, had tried to murder Mal; becoming a Reaver himself as the only refuge from what he had seen. Mal had been forced to kill him. "No." Simon said, "I don't think it's cowardly at all."

Jayne looked up at him again, and their eyes met; blue holding blue. "Thanks." He offered his hand.

Simon swallowed, nodded. He touched the back of Jayne's hand with his fingertips, not looking away. "Okay then."

There was a noise like the end of the world. Simon and Jayne were thrown up and into each other, colliding like a blow from a hammer. Jayne's forehead smashed into Simon's jaw and Simon heard the bone crack like thunder in his skull. He was out before he hit the floor.

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Trip yelled above the caterwauling of the proximity alarm. He braced himself against his consol and pulled himself upright. The entirety of the bridge crew, save Travis and T'Pol, had been knocked off their feet. Hoshi was still on her knees by the communications consol, clearly dazed. Trip noticed a trickle of blood on her forehead.

"Not again," she muttered as she held her head. T'Pol knelt over her, dispassionately inspecting the wound.

"It is very superficial, ensign," she said. She helped Hoshi back to her feet.

Jon picked himself up off the deck. "Malcolm, report! What hit us? And turn off that alarm!"

Malcolm had regained his seat at the tactical station and was frantically reviewing the data. "It appears to have been some sort of energy wave, Captain," he replied, "we've suffered no damage to the ship, but there are reports coming in of a few minor injuries. The hull plating has been polarized and weapons are on-line." He hit a switch, and the alarm shut off suddenly. Trip could hear his ears ringing in its absence.

"Energy wave?" Jon repeated, "from what?"

"That's just it, sir," Malcolm was clearly puzzled. "I know where the wave ended, but I can't tell what its point of origin was."

"I know the point of origin." Travis said. His eyes were huge. "That thing there." He pointed at the view screen.

Jon straightened up, peering at the small shape, "T'Pol," he said, "do you know what that is?"

T'Pol had returned to her station after helping Hoshi regain her seat, and she bent over to look into her viewer. "It appears to be a ship, Captain," she said, her voice betraying no hint of curiosity.

Trip shot her a look. "That take a lot of logic to figure out?"

Jon silenced Trip with a glance. "What kind of ship is it, T'Pol?" he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"I do not recognize its configuration, Captain." T'Pol said, "It is not listed in the Vulcan database, either."

"Travis?" Jon raised his eyebrows at the helmsman.

"I would remember a ship that ugly, sir." Travis replied. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"It seems awfully small to have generated such kinetic force," Malcolm said, "and my scans aren't registering any weapons."

"No weapons?" Trip exclaimed, "all the way out here?"

T'Pol raised one eloquent eyebrow. "Not every species assumes hostile intent, Commander," she said coolly, "perhaps they do not feel the need to be armed."

Trip opened his mouth to reply.

"—Any biosigns?" Jon said quickly.

T'Pol turned smoothly back to her viewer. "I am uncertain. The ship is made of an unusual alloy that our scans are having difficulty penetrating."

"It looks like a—bug." Hoshi said. She blotted her forehead with her sleeve.

"Hoshi," Jon said, "can you open a channel?"

"Not really, sir." She bit her lip, hands working at the controls. "I mean," she continued, "I know I've opened a channel to them, but I can't tell if they're receiving or not."

Jon looked puzzled. "You mean they're not acknowledging?"

"No, I mean I can't tell if they are or not." Hoshi replied, "It's like they're using frequencies I've never even heard of."

Trip moved from his station to get a better view of the tiny ship. It sure didn't look impressive. The hull was a rusty grey-brown colour, the shape clunky and oddly triangular. There was no movement visible. No light coming from it at all, and Trip wondered if there was even a crew. He turned to Malcolm, "is that thing even running?"

Malcolm glanced over his viewscreen, tapped a few buttons, frowned. "I can't tell."

"I don't like this." Trip said. He and Malcolm exchanged a look, and he knew what the lieutenant was thinking: The last time a ship hadn't answered their hails they had all nearly ended up dead, lymphatic fluid being drained out for skin cream.

Jon sighed, hands on hips as he surveyed his quiet bridge crew. "So, we have an unidentified ship with no apparent crew, perhaps not responding to our hails. Suggestions?"

Trip caught the subtle movement as Malcolm raised one eyebrow. "Perhaps we should let sleeping dogs lie, sir?" he said.

"Thank you, Malcolm." Jon said. He turned to the science officer, "T'Pol?"

"I see no reason to investigate a vessel that seems to be neither occupied nor functioning," she said.

"Anyone else?" Jon asked.

Hoshi busied herself with her consol.

Trip cleared his throat, trying to formulate a way to repeat what Malcolm and T'Pol had said.

"We could go look," said Travis.

The captain clapped his hands together decisively. "That's the spirit, Travis. You pilot." Travis leaped out of his chair and nearly ran to the turbo lift.

Malcolm wearily pulled himself out of his seat. "Which shuttle pod, sir?" he smiled wanly.

Jon smiled tightly at him. "So glad you can join us, lieutenant. T'Pol, Hoshi, you're with me. Trip, you have the bridge."

Trip sighed. "Yessir."

* * *

She didn't remember how she had ended up on the floor of her shuttle, but it was the clanking sound as a ship connected up with _Serenity_ that woke her. Immediately, she scrambled to her hands and knees. The box with the poison had been in her hands. She found the box, open against the leg of her table. It was empty. "Oh no," she breathed, freezing in place. She frantically searched the deck with her eyes.

There, in the corner, the tiny vial.

Inara scurried towards it, the vibration of the airlock doors opening like a gentle humming against her skin. The Reavers would be all over the ship in seconds.

Her heart hammered hard in her chest, sucking the air from her lungs almost before she had a chance to breathe it. Her hand finally closed over the vial. Sobbing with horror and relief, she popped the cork and sat back up on her heels to drink. As she tilted her head back, something shiny caught her attention out the shuttle's canopy.

It was a ship. A huge, shiny ship, glinting silver in the light of the stars. It was warm and round and beautiful. At least as beautiful as any ship in the Alliance, without the hard edges that made their flying fortresses look like cities.

"Oh my God," Inara whispered. She re-corked the bottle and stood, slowly moving from her shuttle into the corridor. She padded down the ladder to the cargo bay, silently, like a cat.

She kept the vial in her hand.

* * *

The airlock doors flared into life and slid open with a rusty clang that made Malcolm wince. Cautiously, he looked around, taking in the large empty space, the metallic, Y-shaped stairway; looking strangely fragile as it almost hung in midair. There were what appeared to be crates and boxes stacked hither and yon, seemingly randomly. "It looks like a Newcastle warehouse," he said, "one of the dodgy ones."

"It's a cargo ship!" Travis exclaimed. His voice sounded tinny through the comm. unit of his EVA suit, and it was difficult to make out his face through the shield of his helmet. "…But I don't think the engines are running. I can't feel any vibrations."

T'Pol looked at her scanner. "The atmosphere is compatible with our physiology, Captain," she said. "We may remove our helmets."

"Thank God!" Hoshi nearly tore off her helmet in her hurry to remove it, and Malcolm heard the hiss of air as her suit decompressed. She sucked in a breath. "The air is always so much sweeter after those things come off." She sniffed delicately, then grimaced, "smells like cows."

"Cows?" Jon was taking his helmet off, "that's unusual."

"There is evidence of previous occupation by a bovine-type species." T'Pol confirmed.

"And the crew?" Malcolm asked, surveying the cargo bay with his eyes, as he tucked his helmet under his arm. The hair on the back of his neck had started to prickle. He directed his next question at the two women. "Can either of you hear anything?"

"Like what?" Travis said.

"Hush!" Malcolm hissed. He took two steps forward, head cocked slightly to the side.

"I hear something, too." Hoshi whispered. T'Pol gave a slow nod of agreement, gesturing to the far end of the cargo bay: a dark area covered in layers of shadows.

Malcolm moved his hand over his phase pistol. "Captain," he said quietly, "behind me, if you please."

As Jon moved, someone fired at them. In one motion, Malcolm tackled the captain to the deck, his pistol in his hand, aiming in the direction of the noise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hoshi, Travis and T'Pol ducking down as well.

"Alright," a woman's voice called out of the darkness, low and harsh, "why don't y'all stay down there while I ask you two questions. Who are you? And why should I let you live?"

"We're from Earth," Jon yelled back, shifting to raise himself up on one elbow. Malcolm moved off of him to crouch just behind his shoulder, gun still trained towards the voice in the dark. "We saw your vessel, and when we couldn't get an answer to our hails. We thought you might need help. We mean you no harm."

"Dropping that weapon of yours would sure go a long way to proving your harmless intentions," the woman said.

Malcolm smiled thinly. "I'll drop mine if you drop yours."

"Ooh, a flirt." Her tone was sarcastic. "Now, I hate to belabour a point, but I don't think you're in any position to make suggestions," she said. "Put your gun down, now. Dong-ma?"

Malcolm heard Hoshi's quick intake of breath. "That was Chinese!"

"We mean no harm," Jon repeated. "Malcolm," he ordered, "put your gun down."

Malcolm turned sharply towards Jon, caught his determined expression, then sighed. Slowly, he turned the weapon in his hand so the trigger was facing away from his fingers and placed it gently on the floor. He straightened up and stepped away from it. "The gun is down," he said.

"Good boy." The woman said, and two figures stepped out of the shadows.

The woman was tall and strong, with brown skin and thick, curly hair that was loosely tied back. Her eyes were dark and narrowed. She was beautiful, and looked mean. Her companion was an elderly man, also with dark skin. He had bright white hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and a moustache. His eyes were kind, and he looked far less menacing than the woman beside him, though he held his rifle with equally practiced hands.

Malcolm's jaw dropped, and the question was out before he had a chance to stop himself. "Are those projectile weapons?"

The woman glowered at him. "Who the hell are you people?"

The captain stood slowly, hands out at shoulder height. "We're from the star ship _Enterprise,_ " he said, gesturing to the coloured patch on his chest, "we're from Earth."

"No shit," the woman answered flatly. She shifted her rifle, making the gun look even more threatening, "Where are you from? I won't ask a third time."

Jon and Malcolm exchanged a worried glance. Jon turned slightly towards Hoshi, "is she not understanding our language?"

Hoshi was staring dumbfounded at the two strangers. "They're speaking English," she confirmed, "how do they know English?"

"Alright, that's enough!" The woman shouted. She raised her rifle to sight down the barrel, and Malcolm tensed, ready to dive for his gun.

The man beside her placed one hand on the woman's shoulder. "Zoë," he said, and his voice conveyed great patience, "they _did_ say they were from Earth. Perhaps they are."

"Earth got used up," The woman called Zoë said, "ain't no one been from there for centuries." She didn't look at the other man.

"What?" Travis said, shocked. "We left Earth a little over a year ago. We talk to Starfleet all the time!"

"Purple-bellies. I knew it." Zoë snarled. "Okay. Now y'all gonna back up real nice—"

"Wait." Malcolm looked up to see a woman standing on the catwalk: elegant, and extremely beautiful. Her clothes were rich and flowing; her hair was silky, black and shining. Her lips a lush red in her pale face. She looked like a princess—a startling contrast to the rough, well-worn clothes and bearing of the armed man and woman facing them.

"This isn't a good time, Inara," the man said.

"No," the elegant woman said, "they're not Alliance—I saw their ship. The Alliance has nothing like that."

"Oh goody," Zoë said, "so they're pirates." She gestured at the _Enterprise_ crew with her gun. "Move."

"We're not pirates," Jon said, a note of exasperation in his voice, "we thought you were in trouble. We came here to help."

"We don't need your help," Zoë said. She took a step forward. "We're done here. Now get."

Jon looked at his crew, "you heard the lady," he said resignedly. "So much for first contact."

Hoshi turned to go, "they speak English. And Mandarin," she muttered, "how do they know English and Mandarin?"

"They're human." Travis said, "just not very friendly."

Malcolm stepped discretely behind Jon, placing himself between the guns and his captain. "After you, sir," he said.

There was a sound of light feet in heavy boots clattering above them. Malcolm turned and saw a young, wild-haired girl run past the elegant woman and pound down the stairs.

"No, no, no!" she shouted, and Malcolm had the sudden thought that perhaps the crew was almost all women, "Can't go!" she cried, "we need the doctor, the smiley one!"

As one, everyone turned to look at her. In a flash, she was standing beside Zoë, her small white hand on the woman's arm, "we need the doctor!" she repeated, "Mal isn't yelling and Wash won't fly."

Malcolm saw Zoë's eyes grow large, and a look of fear move over her face. "What do you mean, River?" she said, voice deadly quiet.

"Wash won't fly," the girl said again, "he's all red and burnt. Mal's lying on the floor; I can't get him to yell at me." She turned towards Jon, looking right at him. "Come on!" she said, impatiently, "the doctor!" she stamped her foot.

Zoë turned to the man next to her, eyes pleading. He nodded, and she shouldered her rifle and bolted for the stairs.

The man continued to aim his rifle at the _Enterprise_ crew as Zoë ran up the stairs and disappeared down a corridor. The elegant woman looked down at them, and then quickly turned to follow Zoë. The man spoke to the girl without turning his head. She was still glaring at Jon. "River," he said gently, "where's Simon? Where's your brother?"

"He has a simple fracture of the left lateral mandible," she said, as if explaining something obvious. "We need the other doctor."

Jon looked at the girl. "Are there hurt people here, River?" he asked. He kept his voice level and calm, as if talking to a young child.

"Are there hurt people here, River?" The girl mimicked. Her imitation of the captain was perfect, uncanny. "Oh sure," she tilted her head, rolling her eyes elaborately, "crazy girl, don't know the difference between hurt and well, live and dead."

The man glanced quickly at the girl, then looked at the _Enterprise_ crew, then seemed to come to some kind of decision. He lowered his weapon. "It would seem," he said, "that if you have a physician on board, we might be in need of his assistance."

Jon nodded seriously. "We can bring him right away." He turned to Travis. "Take the shuttle," he said, "get Phlox."

"Yes sir," Travis said. He turned and went through the airlock.

Jon looked back at the white-haired man. "Can you take us to them?" He asked, "maybe we can help."

The man considered a moment, nodded. He turned, heading for the metal stairs. "This way." The girl nodded as well, never taking her eyes off Jon, then finally turned and followed.

At the top of the stairs, the white-haired man paused, turning towards Jon and the others. "The bridge is that way," he said, pointing, "follow me."

"Whose going to the engine room, then?" River asked, wide eyes bright and serious. "Kaylee needs to be dug out."

The man blinked. "Dug out? Were you there?"

"No," River said, like that point was irrelevant. She turned suddenly and pointed at T'Pol. "You should come—you're strong. Stronger than Jayne." She smiled, a tiny flash of sunshine. "I like your ears."

T'Pol glanced at Jon, one eyebrow raised. Jon looked at River, then back to T'Pol and nodded. "Go see what you can do," he said, "we'll be that way." He indicated the direction the man had pointed in.

"Settled, then," River said. She took T'Pol's hand, began walking hurriedly down the corridor. She turned her head just before they were out of sight: "tell Mal I say hi."

"I surely will." The man sounded dubious, but he stepped back into the lead. "This way."

Hoshi leaned in close to Malcolm as they walked in the opposite direction from the engine room. "Is she crazy?" She whispered.

"I've no idea," Malcolm whispered back, "but then, I'm not sure what might pass for sane around here." He touched her hand. "Are you alright?"

Hoshi smiled at him, grasped his hand for a second, let go. "I'm more worried about T'Pol," she said, glancing behind her, to the archway where the Vulcan and the strange girl had disappeared. "Do you think she'll be okay?"

"Absolutely," Malcolm replied immediately. At least, of any of them, he was sure T'Pol could handle herself.

* * *

Jayne crouched by the far wall of the infirmary, ready to spring, facing the glass porthole of the door. He was holding Vera, hands clenched so tightly around the barrel and the grip they were shaking, knuckles bright white.

He'd been going to shoot himself, just like he'd said, but that would have left the doc alone, lying hurt and unconscious on the floor. Jayne wasn't going to do that. He'd thought about shooting the doctor, had even placed Vera's muzzle up against Simon's temple, ready to pull the trigger. He figured it would be the kindest thing; Simon wouldn't even know. Jayne couldn't stomach the idea of the Reavers getting a hold of a boy as pretty as the doc. Simon was so fancy and delicate—Jayne figured he'd be ripped apart, torn up, no question. Not a hope in hell. They'd probably grab him first.

But he couldn't do it. He didn't know why, but instead of putting the boy out of the misery to come he'd stepped back, set himself up against the wall, aiming at the door.

He wasn't going to make it easy for them. Maybe going down fighting was the best way, after all.

* * *

"Kaylee!" The young girl named River shouted. She was tugging on T'Pol's hand, drawing her deeper into the engine room, almost forcing the Vulcan to run. "It's okay, Kaylee," she called, "I brought help. Pointy-ears."

"River?" The voice was faint, young and undeniably feminine. "I'm over here!" T'Pol heard a cough.

"Here," River said, pointing. T'Pol saw a large pile of what seemed to be pieces of equipment, though T'Pol could recognize none of it. It smelled harsh and unpleasant, like some kind of fuel. It made her nose burn. A leg was sticking out of the pile, clothed in what appeared to be grey work pants.

"I see her," T'Pol answered. She crouched easily and pulled the largest piece from the pile—something that looked like a fan blade—then tossed it aside. She heard another cough. "You will be free soon," she said.

"Thanks," Kaylee said weakly. "It's hard to breathe under here." There was a pause, "that you, Zoë? Mal send you?"

"I am not Zoë. My name is T'Pol," she responded. "I work with a man named Malcolm." She hefted another unnameable thing and threw it away. River watched her solemnly, playing with some loose threads on her sleeve, and occasionally pointing out which piece she should move next. T'Pol would not normally have wasted her time in useless conversation, but she thought the trapped woman might be afraid; in her experience, humans did not take well to confinement. She thought talking might help keep her relaxed. "However," she continued, nodding at River as she reached for a twisted bar the girl had indicated, "he did not send me here. It was one of your colleagues—River."

"T'Pol?" The woman's accent made her name sound more like 'T'Pal,' "that's a strange name." There was a pause, and T'Pol could hear the woman gasping for breath. "Did you fight the Reavers off, or something?" There was a hopeful note in her voice.

"I did not," T'Pol answered. She pulled away another portion of the pile. She could see the woman's back now. "You may roll over," she said, "you are free."

"Thank God!" The young woman rolled over, gasping in gulps of air. She lay on her back, lifting herself up on her elbows. There was a black smudge of grease on her face. Her green eyes met T'Pol's, and she smiled. "Thanks so much for saving me. I was worried I would never—" she paused, her eyes widening. "Your ears are pointed!"

"Pointy-ears." River said.

"I am not human." T'Pol stated. "I am Vulcan."

"You're not human?" Kaylee squeaked. "You're not _human_?" She scooted backwards until she bumped her head on what appeared to be the engine. She looked at River. "She's not human!"

"The probability of the existence of planets supporting non-human sentient life in our galaxy is approximately 1.2 billion to one." River turned to look at T'Pol, "but we're not from around here."

"Is she dangerous?" Kaylee asked River, her eyes huge.

"She rescued you, didn't she?" River said.

Kaylee nodded, still looking uncertain.

"Besides," River continued, "her species don't eat meat."

"That is true," T'Pol affirmed, "we do not." She looked at Kaylee. "Nor do we attack helpless humans. You have never heard of Vulcans before?"

Kaylee shook her head, "Only humans out here, far as anybody can tell."

"Fascinating." T'Pol said. She decided to leave this discussion for another moment. She extended her hand, "I will not harm you."

Kaylee glanced at River, then after a moment, took the proffered hand and let T'Pol pull her to her feet. "Wow!" she said, "you're ever strong!"

"Are you hurt?" T'Pol eyed her critically. "Have your lungs been damaged by the fumes?"

"What fumes?" Kaylee said, clearly puzzled, "it always smells like this down here." She looked around, her expression crestfallen. "Oh, no!" She exclaimed sadly, then ran over to a large wire and pipe-covered cylinder that was more-or-less in the middle of the area. She pressed the side of her face to it, patting it as one might a favourite pet. "My engine! I can't hear my engine!" She turned to River, stricken. "How long has she been broke?"

"Since we fell in the hole."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow; she had never heard such a term before. Something else to investigate later.

* * *

Wash was in a bad way. His heart was still beating, but he was awful burned. The consol had exploded into flame that had raked all the way up Wash's torso and the left half his face. For sure he'd lose the eye. That is, if he lived—Mal hadn't seen too many folk survive burns like that. Mal rubbed his palm over his face as he pulled himself heavily to his feet, all but falling against the wall as he hit the comm. His head was pounding and he was having difficulty focusing. "Simon?" he croaked.

There was no answer. After a minute, he realized that the comm. wasn't working at all. Another minute after that, he realized the engine was dead. There was no sound, no vibration; no comforting background hum to let him know all was good.

He remembered the noise and the ship shaking, and his chest seized. _The grapplers._ He was sure that's what he heard before being knocked off his feet. Which meant there were Reavers on his ship. He looked around him, almost falling over with the movement of his head. There were no guns on the bridge, no weapons of any kind. All he had was a big solid door that wouldn't close without power, a smoking consol, a sorely wounded man.

"Rutting hell," Mal muttered.

He heard the sound of multiple footsteps in the corridor, and stepped back. He placed his body in front of Wash, trying to focus his head enough to fight. He crouched down into a defensive stance, and shouted out the doorway: "You don't want to come in here! I have the whole thing ready to blow, any second! I swear it! Come in, and you're done for!" He was shaking with the effort of standing.

Zoë stepped through the doorway, quickly followed by Inara. He nearly collapsed with relief, and would have fallen if Inara hadn't caught him under the arm. Zoë was already kneeling by Wash's body, blinking rapidly.

"Wash?" she said, and Mal was startled by the vulnerability in her voice. She looked up at Mal, her eyes wet. "We have to get him to the infirmary."

"I know it." Mal realized that Inara was slowly lowering him to the floor.

"Your head is bleeding," she said, "I think you have a concussion."

"Why are you still alive?" he asked, "didn't the Reavers kill us all?"

"The Reavers just—disappeared," Book said, stepping through the doorway. He was trailed by three people dressed in bronze-coloured spacesuits without the helmets. "These people showed up instead."

"What they want?" Mal asked Book. Inara had ripped off a portion of her gown and was pressing it to his scalp. One of the bronze-wearing people, a man about Simon's size with the same colour hair, stepped past them and went to kneel next to Zoë.

"He's been badly burnt, captain," the man said, in an accent too much like Badger's to be comfortable. "But he's still alive." Mal automatically turned his head when he heard his title, was about to tell the man he knew that already, when the tallest of the bronze-suits spoke up:

"Is it safe to move him, Malcolm?" the man asked, and Mal opened his mouth to answer when the kneeling man spoke again:

"I think so, sir. But I'd feel more comfortable waiting until Phlox arrived." Another Malcolm, Mal thought. That explains it.

"We should cut off his burnt clothes," Zoë said, voice all practical as her training kicked in. She leaned forward, pulling a knife from her belt, and began gently slicing at what was left of the collar of Wash's shirt. She turned to the stranger beside her, and passed him another knife. "Help me," she said. It wasn't a request. He took the knife silently and began cutting the clothes as well.

Mal looked up at Inara. "What the hell's goin' on?" he asked, "who the hell are these people? Where's Simon?"

"We're here to help," the tall man said, "we've sent for our doctor, from our ship."

"That's right neighbourly of you," Mal said, wincing as Inara pressed his wound harder, "but we have a doctor. Soon as he gets here, anyhow."

Book looked pensive. "River said he was hurt."

"Niou-se" Mal swore, "how bad?" He noticed the Asian woman in the bronze suit blushing, and he idly wondered about how these strangers had a Chinese person in their crew who wasn't the captain.

"I don't know," Book responded, "River said you and Wash were the worst off. We came here first."

"Well, you'd better go check then, shouldn't you?" Mal said, "Jayne's with him, after all." Book nodded, and left.

"Hold still," Inara muttered, "I'm trying to tie a bandage." She had torn more of her dress and was wrapping the pieces against his head.

"Is Kaylee alright?" Mal asked Inara, trying to move her hand from his head. She pushed his wrist away and kept working.

"I sent one of my crew with that girl, River, to find her," Big Bronzy said.

"And who might you be?" Mal asked, "Those suits are mighty fancy for us being so far away from a core world, and all."

"My name is Jonathan Archer," the tall one said, "I'm the captain of the _Enterprise_." He gestured at British bronzy, "that is Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, my armoury officer. And this," Jon said, indicating the Asian woman next to him, "is Ensign Hoshi Sato, my communications officer."

Mal tried to hide his shock. They were soldiers—maybe some kind of new Alliance branch or something, since he had never seen those suits before. The _Enterprise_ badge on Bronzy's suit sure looked official. He wondered if they had been tracking the Reavers, came upon the _Serenity_ by accident.

And they'd been talking about River and Simon right in front of them, nice as you please. Hell, the big one was even using the girl's name. "You need to get off my ship," he said, trying to make his voice as stern and threatening as possible. "You're trespassing. We didn't invite you here."

The big one—Jonathan Archer—looked confused. "Your crew asked for our help. River and the other man, the one with white hair."

" _I_ didn't ask for your help," Mal snarled. He managed to stand, ignoring Inara's pulling on him. "I ain't gonna ask you again."

"Bloody hell," the other Malcolm murmured, "we've had better reception with the Klingons."

"That's enough, Mr. Reed," Archer said absently. He turned his attention back to Mal. "I'm not sure who you think we are, but that man of yours looks to be in very bad shape. We have a doctor from our ship coming. You should at least let him look."

"Mal," Zoë said, turning her attention from her husband, "they're not Alliance."

"So you say," Mal said. He turned to Archer. "There ain't nothin' here for you to bother with." He took a step forward. Inara made some kind of protesting noise but he ignored her. No way he was going to let these purple-bellies just up and waltz off with the Tams. "'Told you to leave, Bronze." He took another step forward, clenching his fists. For a moment his vision went double, showing four people in front of him. He shook his head and the world slid back into place.

"Captain…?" The other Malcolm said.

"I'm fine, Malcolm," Archer said carefully.

Inara grabbed at his arm again. It was getting more and more difficult to shake her off. "For God's sake, Mal!" she said, "Don't be an ass!"

"Quiet, Inara," Mal snapped, though he never took his eyes from Archer. He was good and angry now, adrenaline taking the edge off the pain in his head. Going for surprise, he took one final, quick step forward and swung.

And dropped like a rock. The next thing he was aware of was two hands like vices clamped under his arms. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Archer said.

Mal could hear movement behind him: no doubt Zoë getting ready to fight if she had to. Likely the other Malcolm was on his feet now as well. Dimly he wondered if it would even be possible to start brawling in this confined space. Maybe Book would finally show up, Jayne with him. He'd have to take this guy out quick, he figured. As soon as he was properly able to stand.

"Mal!" Inara put her hands on either side of his face. Her palms were smooth and cool. She physically turned his head so he was looking right at her. "They're not Alliance!" She was shouting it into his face, brown eyes dark and angry. "They're here to help us! They don't want River or Simon!"

Mal blinked. It hurt. "They don't?"

"Look!" Archer said sharply, "I don't know what the hell this 'Alliance' is supposed to be, but we have nothing to do with it. We're from Earth. From Starfleet. Our ship is called _Enterprise_. We were hit by an energy wave that seemed to originate from your ship. We came over to investigate and offer assistance. I don't know who Simon is. I don't want to take River anywhere. We're here to help—and frankly," Mal felt himself being shaken slightly, "you _really_ look like you could use it."

Mal was still looking at Inara. "They're not after Simon and River?"

Inara shook her head, giving him the briefest of smiles. "They're here to help, Malcolm," she told him, "Their ship is huge. It could probably have blasted us to pieces if they wanted to hurt us."

The lieutenant had raised his head when Inara used Mal's full name. This would be tough to get used to. "As I recall," he said, sounding like Badger's civilized brother, "it was your ship that caused the energy wave. We were lucky it didn't do more damage."

Mal turned to him sharply, grimacing as the movement made his head spin. "That wasn't our ship!" he snapped, "don't try to blame your gorram damage on us." His voice sounded far away, like somebody else was talking.

"Don't be rude," Inara admonished. She finally let go of his head, and he had to fight to keep it from sagging forward. "They didn't cause this."

He felt two sets of hands supporting him, and his arm was slung over Archer's shoulder. "Where's your infirmary?" the Asian woman said.

Mal looked at her. Her almond-shaped eyes were dark and sweet. "You Chinese?" he asked.

"No, I'm from Japan," she said, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

"So that explains why you're not Captain." Mal muttered to himself. He felt the woman slip his other arm over her shoulder, which was good, 'cause he was finding staying upright a mite difficult.

"We're ready to move Wash," Zoë said.

Inara looked at the silent form of the pilot, then back at Mal. "Book should have been back here by now," she said.

"I'm sure we'll find him on the way," Archer replied, "we'll send a stretcher back for the other man when we get there." Mal figured he was talking to Zoë.

"I'll take you," Inara said, and Mal saw her place one graceful hand on Archer's face. "Thank you," she murmured, "your help really is appreciated." She gave him one of her most brilliant smiles, before turning to lead the way off of the bridge.

Mal moved his head slightly to look at Archer. The man was grinning, clearly dazzled by the Companion.

"Shiny." Mal grumbled. They moved out.

* * *

The doors to the infirmary were closed, the lights out. Book approached cautiously, years of hard-earned wisdom telling him something was definitely wrong.

Jayne's probably still in there, Book was thinking. If Jayne's in there, either he's hurt, or he isn't. He wasn't sure which would make the mercenary more dangerous, especially if he thought he was being snuck up on.

"Jayne! Simon!" Book called, standing well to the side of the door. He made his voice carry as far as he could, "It's Book! Are you two all right?"

The glass porthole shattered right next to his head, a bullet slamming into the bulkhead across from him. "Jesus Christ!" He swore. "Jayne!" He yelled, "It's me, Book! Put down your weapon!"

Another bullet sped through the remaining glass, hitting the bulkhead just under the first one. This time Book leapt nimbly to the side, one hand over his heart as he panted. "Jayne!" Book hollered again, "What in God's name are you doing? Are you trying to kill me?"

"How c'n I be sure it's you?" Book heard. It was Jayne all right. His voice sounded strained, frightened even.

Book closed his eyes, taking a long, deep breath. "I assure you, I'm Book, Jayne. If you'd let me come in I could prove it."

"No way in hell you're comin' in here," Jayne responded.

Book sighed silently, tried a different tactic. "River said her brother's jaw was broken—is Simon all right?"

There was a pause, "how'd she know he was hurt?"

"River knows a lot of things," Book said. "Is Simon hurt badly?"

There was another pause. "Dunno," Jayne said at last, "he ain't woke yet."

"Wash and Mal are hurt too," Book called back, "Wash has been burned very badly—they're going to need Simon's help."

"I ain't lettin' no ta-ma-duh Reaver get at Simon."

Book grit his teeth. "I'm sure Simon will be happy to know that—But I am _not_ a Reaver. I'm Book, the Shepherd. Please, Jayne, you need to let me into the Infirmary."

One more pause, this one seeming to last hours. Then, "I'm keepin' my gun on ya."

"That's fine, Jayne," Book rolled his eyes, "just don't shoot me, all right?" He moved slowly, turning so that he was facing the door. He kept his hands up, obviously non-threatening. "I'm coming in now, Jayne," he said. He slid the doors open with one hand.

He could see the mercenary clearly now: kneeling with one knee off the floor, the enormous gun he insisted on calling 'Vera' held steady against his shoulder. The man's eyes were absolutely wild. There was a thick trail of semi-dry blood running down Jayne's right arm, soaking into his rolled-up sleeve. Simon was lying on the floor just beside him, clearly unconscious. The left side of his face was swollen and discoloured with bruising. Book winced in sympathy.

"Book?" Jayne said.

"That's right," Book smiled wearily at him. He knelt down in front of Jayne, trying to focus on the mercenary's eyes and not the muzzle of the gun now just under his nose. "We're all right, son," he said, "the Reavers are gone."

"Where'd they go, then?" Jayne snarled. The gun didn't shift a millimetre.

"Another ship chased them off." Book wasn't sure that was true, but he wasn't about to quibble with a gun in his face. "There are some people from that ship aboard now, they're helping us. They're bringing a doctor."

"Simon's our doc." Jayne said.

"Yes," Book agreed, speaking slowly and gently, "but as you've pointed out, Simon hasn't woken up yet. He may need a doctor himself."

Jayne glanced at Simon, his eyes softened, lost some of their wildness. When he looked back at Book, his eyes were hard again. "How we know we can trust these people?"

That was an excellent question, one Book wasn't sure how he had answered for himself. He paused. "Because we can," he said simply, knew it was the truth.

Jayne blinked once, seemed to snap out of wherever he had been. "Okay then," he said. He stood up, slinging Vera over his shoulder. He looked down at Simon's prone form. "Maybe you could help me move him onto a table?"

Book smiled. "I surely could."

* * *

Trip, Dr. Phlox and Travis were in the shuttle pod, re-tracing the short distance between the _Enterprise_ and the strange ship. Travis was repeating the story of their disastrous first contact.

"Whoo hoo!" Trip laughed, "That reception sounds worse than the Klingons!"

"You said it," Travis grinned, "I thought for sure Malcolm was gonna have a firefight right by the airlock. You should've seen the look on Hoshi's face!"

"I bet she was scared half to death," Trip said, "but you say they speak _English?_ "

"Uh huh,"

"All the way out here?" Trip was incredulous, "you figure they're Boomers, Travis? Maybe lost or somethin'?"

"No Boomers I've ever met, commander." Travis shook his head. "They were, weird," he was clearly at loss for a better word. "They all spoke like you."

Trip raised his eyebrows, "that makes 'em weird, ensign?"

Travis laughed. "Not entirely. It was more their attitude. They were really suspicious, and the woman called us 'purple-bellies' like it was some kind of insult."

"Maybe they don't perceive the same colour-spectrum," Phlox said, "perhaps it is merely a way to classify other species."

"Maybe," Travis shrugged, "but they sure looked human. No spots or extra nostrils or anything."

"Then perhaps they have been under a great deal of stress," Phlox said, "that would make anyone nervous of strangers."

"Purple-bellies?" Trip asked, "You suppose that's anythin' like yellow-bellied coward?"

"That's a new one," Travis said, "I've never heard that before." He turned to the commander and grinned, "I told you they talked like you!"

Trip smiled and leaned back in his chair, "a whole ship fulla folks from the Florida panhandle. It's gonna feel like home."

"Well," said Phlox briskly, "I'm glad someone will feel welcome there. As for me, I just hope that Captain Archer has worked his usual diplomatic magic and they have put down their guns, hm?"

Trip looked sideways at Travis, "and the crew really seems to be all women, huh?"

Travis flashed the commander a big, white smile. "Yeah. Only one man. And he was old."

Trip smiled and nodded. "Well, this could get right interestin'."

Travis smiled back. "Yeah."

"I bet they'll be real grateful once we fix their engines, and all." Trip continued.

"Yeah," Travis said.

Trip leaned back in his chair to look at Phlox. "Bet they'll be real grateful for the help of our excellent Denobullan physician, too."

Phlox shifted nervously. "Not too grateful, I hope."

"Gratitude is alright by me," Travis said.

"They really sound like me?" Trip asked again.

Travis thought a second, "yeah, pretty much."

Trip grinned. "Hot damn." He paused. "Any cute guys?"

Travis cocked his head. "Well, the old guy was okay…Just about your age, too."

"Oh, very funny, _crewman_ ," Trip said sourly. Travis just laughed.

* * *

Zoë waited with the others by the airlock, listening as the _Enterprise's_ shuttle hooked up with _Serenity_ again. She wanted to pace, go back to the infirmary, maybe shoot someone. It was hard work just keeping her hands from twitching as she held her rifle. Wash was in the infirmary, was maybe going to die. And here she was, waiting.

She casually glanced to her left, looking at the four strangers who still insisted they were there to help. They had taken off their bronze suits, at least, which made them look a bit more human and less like Alliance folk, but the skin-tight silver suits they'd had underneath were hardly more familiar or comforting. She was glad she had Jayne with her, and they both had their guns, even if he was tetchier than a mudder in dry season. She glanced at Kaylee, but couldn't find it in her to return the girl's hopeful smile. Kaylee's face was all lit-up excited, eager to meet more 'aliens' as she'd put it, now that she'd convinced herself that the Vulcan was good people. Zoë wasn't so sure if oddly-shaped ears really meant the woman was a bona-fide alien, but she hadn't the inclination or the time to inquire.

She couldn't stop thinking about Wash. His body, his face, so burnt up she could barely recognize him. She hoped he stayed unconscious, else the pain alone might kill him.

Mal had been right; she never should have married him. Now, with the Captain unconscious, she was the one everyone was looking to, and she felt like she was coming apart.

The airlock doors slid open. She fingered her gun.

Kaylee sucked in a breath. "Now thems a _fine_ piece of real-estate!" She exclaimed happily, looking at the two uniformed men who entered first. Zoë silenced her with a glance. She recognized the younger man from before, the pilot; the blond was new. And she had no idea who—or what—the fellow behind him was.

She stepped forward, towards the blond. "You the doc?"

He smiled charmingly. "My name is Commander Tucker, ma'am," he said, "but you can call me 'Trip.' I'm the chief engineer on _Enterprise._ " He nodded towards the other strangers. "Cap'n, Malcolm, Hoshi—nice to see y'all."

"Ooh, the engineer." Kaylee cooed under her breath.

The _Enterprise_ captain nodded back. "Likewise. Whose in charge of the ship, Mr. Tucker?"

"I left her in the capable hands of Ensign Cormack, sir," the commander said.

"Good choice," the lieutenant sounded approving.

"Is he the doctor?" Zoë asked. She stepped forward, eyes narrowed as she took in the third man's placid expression and vivid blue eyes. "What's wrong with his face?"

"Why, nothing!" The stranger said, "My cranial structure is perfectly normal for my species—I'm a Denobullan."

"Another alien!" Kaylee squealed and clapped her hands together. She sounded like a kid at a fair. Zoë sent her another glare that shut her up good. The girl dropped her head and stepped back.

"What the hell…?" Jayne said. He came forward, Vera raised to shoulder height. He stared at the doctor. "What the _hell_?"

The doctor stepped back. "Perhaps you are not familiar with my species, hmm?" He sounded nervous, overly-big smile flickering. "I assure you, we are perfectly harmless."

"What the _HELL_?" Jayne shouted. He aimed his gun.

The lieutenant had his own little weapon out instantly, aimed dead-centre at the mercenary's chest. He had stepped in front of their doctor almost before Zoë had realized it. "Drop it," he commanded, "drop it _now_."

"Hey," the captain and the commander said at once. The captain grabbed hold of the muzzle of Jayne's rifle, while the commander placed a restraining hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. Bad move, Captain, Zoë thought. She stood back as Jayne instantly shifted his grip to lower Vera's muzzle, forcing the captain's hand down as Jayne brought up the grip. Which he smashed into the side of the captain's head. The captain went staggering backwards, hand to his face.

The lieutenant fired. A stream of red light hit Jayne in the shoulder. The big man dropped to his knees, then fell forward to the deck. He didn't move.

Kaylee and the Asian woman screamed. Zoë shouldered her rifle, aiming straight at the lieutenant. "You better pray to God he ain't dead, or you will be," she snarled.

The lieutenant switched his aim to her head. Neither of them moved.

"Malcolm! Stop! That's an order!" The captain yelled. He was still pressing a hand to his face. The lieutenant glanced at him, expression almost horrified.

"Sir?" he asked. His gun didn't move.

"Put it away, lieutenant," the captain said.

The lieutenant slipped his gun back into his holster with obvious reluctance. He took a military stance, as if just waiting for Zoë to put a hole in him. It was real tempting. They glowered at each other.

"Kaylee," Zoë said, her eyes still boring into the lieutenant's, "check Jayne." Their doctor stepped forward, looked like he wanted to say something. "Get back." Immediately, he did so, expression clearly worried.

"Whoa," the commander said. He raised his hands, palms out. "This has all been a big misunderstandin.' Our doc might not be a human, but he's one of the best there is."

"Jayne's all right!" Kaylee said. She was kneeling next to him, one small hand on his neck. "He's still breathin' an' all. I think—I think he's just asleep or somthin'." She sounded relieved enough to cry.

"He's only stunned," the captain said, "he'll wake up in about half an hour with a headache, but that's all." His mouth crooked in a slight smile. "Scout's honour." He still held his jaw. A purple bruise was forming around his hand. Zoë didn't lower her rifle.

"Travis," the captain said, "why don't you take T'Pol, Hoshi and Malcolm back to the shuttle. I'll take doctor Phlox to the infirmary now, and I'll let you know if we'll be taking any of the wounded to _Enterprise_."

"Sir!" the Lieutenant looked positively heartbroken. Zoë smiled.

"You heard the man," she said. She gestured just slightly with her gun. "Get."

"I'll be fine, Malcolm," the captain nodded at him.

"Yes sir," the lieutenant said, "we'll wait in the shuttle for your call." He turned with military precision and walked back through the airlock, followed closely by the two women and the young pilot. The commander patted the lieutenant on the shoulder as he walked past.

Zoë finally lowered her gun. She glanced at the doctor—the 'Denobullan,' whatever that meant—then tapped the commander on the shoulder. When he looked at her she gestured towards Jayne, still on the floor. "Help me carry him," she said. Looked like the strange doctor would be busy for a while.

"Damn, this hurts," the captain said, rubbing his jaw. "Your crewmate has a mean arm."

"That he does," Zoë agreed. "He's damn dangerous."

The captain looked at her appraisingly. "He's not the only one."

Zoë just nodded. She waited 'til the commander grabbed one of Jayne's arms, then hefted him until both the mercenary's arms were over their shoulders. "Infirmary's this way," she said, "come on."

* * *

Simon's jaw hurt like hell. The pain was radiating up to his temples, throbbing down his neck, like claws in his spine. He could barely speak, could barely swallow even. None of that mattered. He had patients to worry about.

Wash was burned, Mal drifting in and out of consciousness, and he had no idea what had happened to Jayne. Plus the big guy who had introduced himself as "Captain Archer" with the nasty bruise on his face. The captain could wait. Jayne would likely be alright. Mal was worrisome, and Wash—Wash was probably going to die.

He hadn't told Zoë that, but he figured it was just a matter of time before she'd know. They had returned the dermal regenerator to the Counsellor's people after he had used it to reattach Mal's ear, and he didn't have anything in his infirmary nearly that sophisticated. He wasn't even sure he had enough salve to cover that much skin, enough pain medication to keep Wash from screaming himself to death.

And then there was that 'doctor.' Simon felt really uncomfortable with him peering over his shoulder as he assessed Wash; he could feel the other man's (if he could be called a 'man') desire to say something, to add his two cents to Simon's assessment, but was holding back. Simon was glad for it. He didn't think he would react too positively at the moment. As the doctor waddled around behind him, the silver case he carried bumped into the gurney, making a dull noise like a nail on rock. Simon shot him a look, and the doctor stepped back, apologetic.

River was sitting on a chair next to Jayne's cot, kicking her legs back and forth. She was humming to herself, something classical and sweet. Every once in a while she would touch Jayne's forehead, or ear, or just above his eye like she was performing a ritual. But she wasn't hurting him, and since he was unconscious, Simon thought he wouldn't mind.

Zoë was standing out of his way, her entire being focused on her husband. He wished he could say something to her, something positive, but even if his jaw was alright, he had no idea what words could offer comfort. She was so tense; he could practically feel her vibrating, heart beating like a hummingbird in her chest. He couldn't make himself look her in the eye.

Inara and Book were talking quietly by Mal's gurney. They kept glancing at Simon, as if they were waiting for him to do something. Inara fussed over Mal every time the man so much as twitched. Simon was trying to ignore them. They were getting on his nerves with their whispering.

Kaylee was standing next to some blond guy from the other ship, her arms wrapped around her middle. She was crying softly, hiccupping every so often. The guy had his arm around her shoulder, was trying to soothe her, and she would glance at him gratefully, whenever she wasn't staring at the wounded men. Every time the blond man spoke, Simon felt himself startle. He sounded so much like Mal.

The _Enterprise_ captain, a man almost as large as Jayne, was standing off to one side, a cooling pad pressed against his cheek. Simon was glad he wasn't the complaining type. Right now, he was talking to the doctor he'd brought with him. Simon was trying not to listen to the conversation as he started an I.V. on Wash's unburned arm, but the combination of whispering and low voices was beginning to feel like jackhammers in his skull.

"eronntwdedgtfkot." He spat through clenched teeth. Even that minor movement caused shooting pain.

Everyone standing just looked at him.

"He said," River enunciated regally from her chair, 'everyone who's not wounded, get the fuck out."

Zoë barely even glanced at him. He knew she wouldn't move.

"Well, I know when I'm not wanted," the blond man said wryly. He turned to Kaylee, "C'mon sweetheart," he said gently, "why don't we check out this broken engine of yours." She nodded, sniffled a bit, and led the man out, taking one last look at Wash as she left.

"He gonna be okay?" she asked timidly at the door. Simon didn't even look at her.

"C'mon darlin'," the guy said, "let the docs do their work."

Inara and Book left silently. Simon glanced at them as they passed to see that they sat together on the couch opposite the infirmary. They had left the doors open, and he could still see them easily, but at least they were out of earshot. He figured it would be petulant to ask them to shut the door altogether.

River didn't leave either, but she stopped her humming and kicking. She started stroking Jayne's hair, like he was a giant cat.

"That jaw looks painful." The alien doctor said, "Do you want something for the pain?"

Simon shook his head, wincing against the new aching. He spoke as clearly as he could: "No tm."

"No time," River repeated without being asked.

"This won't take a moment," the doctor said genially. Simon heard the snap of the clasps on the silver case, the click as something metallic was put together. Something cold was pressed against his neck. Before he could jerk away, he heard a small hiss and the tiny bite of a needle. Instantly, his pain was gone.

He looked at the doctor, startled. "What the hell did you just do?"

The doctor gave him an unnervingly huge grin. "Just a simple analgesic," he said, "I thought you would find it easier to work without pain, hmmm?"

Simon rubbed his jaw. He could feel the broken edges of the bones creak and move against each other. There was no pain at all. "That's some analgesic," he said.

"If you would give me a minute, I could repair the break for you," the doctor said.

Simon paused, evaluating. He nodded.

"Excellent," the doctor said, and removed some sort of square device from the case. He ran it over Simon's jaw while looking at its small screen. Simon forced himself not to flinch. At least the alien wasn't touching him.

"A simple fracture of the left lateral mandible," the doctor and River said at the same time. River flashed her brother a big smile, then turned her attention back to Jayne. She began gently tapping the middle of his forehead with one finger. "Gonna wake up soon," she murmured, "not gonna be happy."

"Clever girl!" The doctor said with genuine admiration. He pulled a different device out of the case. "Please hold still." He ran the device over Simon's jaw. Simon could feel a strange tingling, almost like it was coming from the bone. It itched; he kept his hands at his side. "All done!" The doctor exclaimed suddenly.

Simon looked at him. "You're finished?" He put his hand to his jaw, rubbing the area with his fingertips. The bone felt solid, smooth. He could feel his eyes grow wide. "What was that?"

The doctor held up the small machine, smiling. "This is an osteogenic amplifier," he explained, "it potentates the growth of new bone. Don't ask me how it works, I don't have the faintest idea, I'm afraid." His smile widened to obscene proportions. "Don't get too enthusiastic with your healed jaw for a few days, mind you, it will be a bit sore for a while."

"Thank you," Simon said. He was looking at Wash. He could feel a bubble of hopeful excitement building in his chest. "Do you have anything like that for skin, for burns?"

"Yes, but it wouldn't work on damage that extensive," the doctor said cheerfully. Simon felt a sudden urge to cry, and swallowed hard. He shot a glance at Zoë. Her eyes were closed.

"—we'll have to take him back to my ship," the doctor continued, "I have much more extensive equipment there, and a few zoological remedies that should do the trick nicely!" The doctor paused, "with your permission, Doctor, I would like to assess your Captain, and perhaps repair the injury to your crewman's hand."

Simon just nodded, amazed.

Zoë's head snapped up like she'd been hit. "He's gonna be alright?" She could barely form the words.

"Yes, yes, of course." The doctor said carelessly. He moved over to Mal and ran his scanning device over Mal's head. "Hmmm," he said, "just as I suspected. A small sub-dural bleed. That could get nasty, though. He'll require surgery for it." The doctor turned back to Simon, "can you perform brain surgery here?"

Simon shook his head. Still too stunned to speak.

Zoë took Wash's unburned hand, looking like she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She brought his knuckles to her lips. "It's gonna be okay, baby," she rasped, "you're gonna be okay."

"We'll have to move him to _Enterprise_ as well, then." Captain Archer said. He unclipped something from his belt and flipped it open. Moving the pack away from his jaw, he spoke into it: "Malcolm," he said, and for a second Simon thought he meant the captain, "we have two wounded here that will need transport back to _Enterprise,_ can you and Travis bring stretchers to their infirmary?"

"Right away," a crisp British accent answered back.

Jayne groaned, eyes fluttering open as soon as he heard the voice. "Where is that gorram British bastard? He needs to die," he croaked.

"He's awake now," River said unnecessarily.

"Shut up, Jayne." Zoë said, but she was smiling.

Jayne sat up heavily, rubbed the back of his head. "Rutting headache," he muttered. He looked at River, then looked up at Simon, "y'all right?"

"Yes," Simon smiled at Jayne, feeling almost giddy with relief, "and so is Wash and the Captain, everyone is going to be alright."

"What?" Jayne grunted, "they hurt?"

The doctor moved to stand beside Jayne, the same device he had used on Simon's jaw in his hand, "May I see your cut?" he asked pleasantly.

Jayne bolted from his seat, "what the hell?"

"It's alright," Simon soothed quickly, "he's a doctor. A good one. He's going to heal your hand."

"Somethin's eerie-ass wrong with his face," Jayne was eyeing the doctor warily. "He looks like a Reaver."

"He's not a Reaver," Simon said, "that's just how his face is. Like how you have blue eyes." For some reason, saying that made Simon want to blush.

"Lousy doctor, can't even fix up his face." Jayne sneered. He was still staring.

"The doctor is a Denobullan," Captain Archer sighed, "He's meant to look like that. Give him a chance."

"No." Jayne looked at Simon, uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Why can't you fix it?"

"I don't have the kind of tools he has, Jayne," Simon explained, "It won't hurt. I promise." He gestured at his face, "he fixed my jaw right up, see?"

Jayne looked, "Maybe you wasn't hurt that bad."

Captain Archer took a deep breath, "Here," he said, stepping forward, "do you see the bruise on my face?"

Jayne nodded, "I put it there."

"Yes, you did." Archer smiled tightly, "Dr. Phlox will heal it for me, then he can heal you, okay?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." Jayne said. He crossed his arms.

Dr. Phlox went over to Archer, "Here you go, Captain," he said, moving the small device over the man's cheek. While they watched, the bruise and swelling faded, finally disappearing. It took only seconds.

Simon smiled, "I want one of those!"

"I'll see what we can do," Archer smiled back at him. He turned to Jayne, "Well?"

Jayne held out his hand, "If this is some kinda trick…" he threatened vaguely.

"No trick, I assure you. Just medical science." Dr. Phlox replied, he passed the device over Jayne's palm, and the deep gash shrunk and closed together, soon looking like it had never been there at all.

Jayne opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Whoa," he said, flexing his hand. "Some trick."

Just then, the other _Enterprise_ crewmen arrived, carrying two stretchers, followed closely by Inara and Book.

"What's going on?" Inara asked, she looked worriedly at Mal.

Captain Archer moved to stand beside her. He placed one large hand gently on her shoulder. "Don't worry," he smiled at her, "Dr. Phlox says your husband is going to be okay."

"He's just a friend." Inara said absently, "and Wash?"

"Wash is gonna be fine!" Zoë was beaming. She was still holding onto the pilot's hand.

Book turned to the alien doctor, "May God bless you with all his mercy," he said. There were tears in his eyes.

Inara grasped Dr. Phlox's hands in both of hers. "Thank you so much." The doctor looked uncomfortable, and gently pulled his hands away. Gracefully, Inara turned to Captain Archer, "How can we ever repay your kindness?"

Archer actually blushed. "All in a day's work."

River jumped up from her seat, went right to the brown-haired man who was setting up a stretcher next to Wash's gurney. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly on the cheek. The man looked startled. "I'm not crazy," she whispered loudly into his ear, "just broken. You're nicer than Badger." She ran up to the other stranger, who was grinning broadly at her.

When she jumped into his arms, he laughed. This time, when River whispered into his ear, Simon couldn't hear her. But the man positively beamed, a faint blush appearing under his dark skin.

Jumping down, River went over to the alien doctor, giving him a graceful, perfect curtsy. "I look forward to seeing your sick bay, doctor," she said formally, "thank you for saving my friends."

Phlox inclined his head back to her. "You're very welcome."

She whirled away, coming to stop in front of Captain Archer. She leaned back to look up at his face. "Thank you for helping us find our way home," she said seriously. "Sorry about the broken hearts." Before he could respond, she ran out of the room, pausing in the doorway. "You're almost as pretty as your engineer," she said. The two crewmen burst out laughing. Then River was gone. Simon could here her yelling for Kaylee down the corridor.

Archer shook his head, turning to Simon. "That's, uh, quite the sister you have there," he said.

Simon just smiled. "You have no idea."

* * *

"I don't rightly see why I can't tend to my ship,"

Captain Mal Reynolds was in the Infirmary on the ship called _Enterprise_ , though they called it a 'Sick bay' over here. He wasn't a happy man. When he had first woken, he had been relieved to see Simon and Inara—else he might have figured he'd been taken to some Alliance fortress ship. The Sick bay was nice: clean, large, well-lit and stocked with equipment he'd never before seen. Now, Simon was following that alien doctor around, looking real uncomfortable and a little like a lost puppy who didn't know where next to stick his nose. River was with him, smiling at everything. Every once in a while Mal could hear Simon whispering for her to keep her hands off something or other. He supposed it gave the doc something to do.

Wash was flat on his back on another nearby gurney, the alien doc fussing with something translucent and rubbery on his face. It made Mal's stomach churn just looking at it, but even he could see that the pilot was already looking better than he had. Zoë had a chair pulled up next to his unburned side, out of the way.

Inara was still next to his gurney—it was a lot more comfortable than the ones _Serenity_ had, he hated to admit—but she had been quiet as a mouse, letting the strangers do all the talking.

"You will be released from Sick bay when Dr. Phlox deems you are sufficiently healed," the strange, point-eared woman said. Another alien, apparently. "Right now, we require a repetition of the events that resulted in your appearance in this area of space."

Mal tugged at the hospital gown they'd given him. Damn things never did fit right. "Is this some kind of interrogation? 'Cause if it is, I want my clothes."

"It's not an interrogation," said Captain Archer. He tried to smile but Mal just stared him down. "We're just trying to figure out what happened."

" _Serenity_ got jumped by Reavers," Mal said flatly, "we were tryin' to outrun 'em."

"River said you 'fell into a hole,'" T'Pol said. Her lack of expression was unnerving.

"River says a lot of things don't make much sense," Mal told her.

"In this case," T'Pol said, "I believe she may be correct."

Mal just looked at her. "Ain't no holes in space. We were hit by the same energy wave you were, is all. Maybe the Reavers did it, before they disappeared."

"Actually, Captain," T'Pol continued, Archer turned towards her as well, "the universe has been known to contain phenomenon known as 'wormholes.' These are, in essence, tunnels _between_ space, connecting one area to another that would otherwise be millions of light years apart." She paused, "there have been theories that these wormholes can connect universes, as well."

Mal rubbed the back of his head, silently pleased it didn't hurt anymore. "You're soundin' more and more like River all the time."

"Hear her out," Archer said. There was an edge to his voice.

"I ain't hearin' stupidities," Mal shot back. "Why are you trying to keep me from my ship?"

"They're not trying to keep you from _Serenity_ , Mal!" Inara finally spoke up. She looked so mad, Mal had to hide a smile. It took a lot to get the Companion so riled. "Kaylee's there now, and so is Book. Kaylee and Commander Tucker are working to repair the engine."

"Commander Tucker?" Mal asked Inara, "there's some stranger messin' with my engine on my ship?"

Archer sighed heavily. "Commander Tucker is my chief of engineering, and my third in command on _Enterprise_. I trust the man with my life. I'm sure you can trust him with your ship."

Mal raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I got higher standards." he said.

"Mal!" Inara shouted. She was looking both angry and horrified. Likely wondering if he was going to take a swing at Archer again.

"There is a great deal of scientific evidence for the existence of wormholes," T'Pol said. "The Vulcan Science Directorate—"

"—I ain't listenin' to another second of this fei-oo 'til I've seen my ship," Mal said. He moved to get off the gurney, brushing aside Inara's anxious hands and expression.

Archer grit his teeth. "Look," he said, "all we've done since the moment we met your crew is offer help. In return, you've threatened to shoot us, took a swing at me, been uncooperative and downright hostile. Now, you've insulted the integrity of two of my finest officers." He took a breath, and Mal could see a vein throbbing in the man's temple. "We are trying to figure out what happened, so that we can get you, your crew, _and_ your ship, back to where you came from. It's worth a minute of your time to listen to what the Sub-Commander has to say." His bright green eyes narrowed into slits. "Understand?"

Mal looked at Inara. "Please, Mal," she said quietly.

"When he went to fight the Minotaur," River suddenly piped up. Mal saw Simon turn to face her, all nervous-like, as if the girl had her hands on a gun again, "he was given a spool of golden thread, to unravel as he walked, to find his way back." She turned her head and Mal found himself staring right into her disconcerting eyes. "You need to hear the story."

That girl was unnerving. Mal sighed, settled back on the gurney a little. He crossed his arms. "All right," he said, "holes in space. I'm listenin'."

"We think you came here from another universe," Archer said, "one with a similar history to ours, but a different present. Your timeline seems to have diverged just around after the Third World War, when Zefram Cochrane developed the first warp engine."

Mal frowned. "Zefram who?"

"Exactly," T'Pol said coolly. "You are not aware of Zefram Cochrane or any of the events that occurred after that, including Starfleet and the first contact between Humans and Vulcans. Indeed, it is apparent that in your universe there may be no non-human sentient species at all."

"What happened to the war?" Mal asked, "The war against the Alliance. Did the Independents win?"

"Our last war was almost 100 years ago," Archer said, his voice strangely gentle all of a sudden, "we don't know about your war."

"Oh," Mal said. He should have figured it'd be too much to hope for.

"There is no alliance of planetary governments," T'Pol said, "there has been some speculation about an eventual federation between Vulcan and her allies, but that is all."

"No Alliance…" Mal said. No 'Brown coats,' no war, no frontier apparently. "Have you," he paused, "are there any other planets?"

Archer smiled. "We have a few Human colonies," he said, "and there are hundreds of planets with sentient life on them. That's what _Enterprise_ is doing out here: seeking out new worlds and new civilizations."

"To take over?"

Archer looked genuinely shocked at the idea. "No," he said. "We're explorers, not conquerors—we don't want to take anything from anybody."

"It sounds wonderful," Inara said.

"Yeah," Mal agreed, "too wonderful. Seems to me, tech like this, that if you haven't gone all imperialist yet it's only because you ain't found anything worth taking."

Inara looked aghast. T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"That's unfair," Archer said, "maybe where you come from, but here we like to think we hold ourselves to—" he paused, "a higher standard."

"A higher standard," Mal repeated. It sounded like Alliance rhetoric, like the kind of stuff they had on all their recruitment posters; blank-faced men and women smiling for the vid cams. Then they'd go and bend another independent planet to their will, beneath the lash and the bullet. "It's amazin,' ain't it, how those with all the tech and power get to set that standard."

It took a moment for the _Enterprise_ captain to get himself back under control. Mal watched him as those green eyes went from blazing to burning then just to mad.

"Well," Archer said, near growling, "I'm sure I've taken up enough of your time. I should return to the bridge."

"So, that mean I can see my ship?" Mal asked.

Archer turned to Inara, features visibly softening. "I'll see you later, for the tour?"

Inara smiled, ever so slightly fluttering her lashes. "I look forward to it, Captain," she said.

"Great," Archer said, smiling again. "T'Pol?" the woman nodded slightly, and they both turned to leave.

Mal watched them until they had left the Sick bay proper, then turned his head so he could see Phlox. "Hey, doc," he called, and both Simon and Phlox looked at him at once, "can I get out of here?"

The alien looked a little startled. "Well," he said in that weird sing-song voice of his, "I would feel more comfortable keeping you here for another 24 hours for observation—"

"Great," Mal said, getting up, "thanks. Where are my clothes?"

"They're underneath you," Inara said icily.

Mal flashed her a warm smile, then bent and gratefully scooped up his pants, shirt, boots and suspenders. He casually took off the hospital shirt, relaxing slightly when he felt the rougher texture of his own shirt over his back again. It didn't even hurt his head to put it on. He looked at Inara pointedly, pants in hand. She backed up a step and viscously yanked on the privacy curtain, obscuring Mal's view of her and the rest of Sick bay. Quickly he finished getting dressed. He felt like things were a little more right when he had his boots on again.

Inara was still there when he pulled back the curtain, standing with her arms crossed, face dark. Mal realized that her dress was ripped, gorgeous material stained rust-brown from blood. He had a vague recollection of her doing something to his forehead.

He smirked at her. "Goin' on a tour, huh? Cap's bedroom?"

She slapped him, hard, whirling on her heel before the sound had even faded. "Find your own damn way out," she said, and stalked off out of the room.

Mal stood blinking, rubbing his cheek. He looked off to one side, to see the alien doc gaping and Simon smirking at him. Simon was holding a small device in his hand.

"Want me to fix that for you, Captain?" He asked, "that looked pretty nasty."

"Kissed the girls and made them cry," River sang.

Zoë's mouth twitched. "Oh, well _done_ , Cap!" She exclaimed.

"All of you, shut up," Mal said. At least he knew how to get out of this gorram infirmary. He'd figure out where to find his ship.

The doors swished shut behind him, and despite himself he turned to watch them do it. When he turned back around, Inara was in front of him again, arms still crossed and face like a pretty thundercloud.

"You are _such_ an ass," she said.

"I seem to recollect you already establishin' that fact," he said, "you know where _Serenity_ is at?"

"I've been with you for a long while now, Malcolm Reynolds," Inara continued as if he hadn't spoken, "but have to admit I have _never_ seen you behave yourself in a more ornery and obstinate manner. Not to mention completely uncivilized and extremely rude. What's gotten in to you?"

Mal opened his mouth to answer, but Inara cut him off.

"—And don't give me that 'I got hurt' excuse. I've seen you hurt before, worse than this, and you still didn't behave this badly. This is something special. If I didn't know better I'd be tempted to say you were out of your mind."

"Maybe you don't know better," Mal snapped. "Maybe you don't know them either—that pretty-boy Captain."

"What do you mean?" Inara asked. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Mal's eyes narrowed just as much. "This is a military ship, Inara," he said, "with a military crew, with tech like we've never imagined, and mutant folk who they insist ain't human, for God's sakes! Now they're spinnin' some kind of niou-se yarn about holes in space and us bein' from a different 'verse. Does _any_ of this inspire your trust, Inara? 'Cause it sure don't do that for me."

"And what about what they're doing to help Wash—what about what they've done for you, healing your injuries? Jonathan brought _Serenity_ into his docking bay, he's sent his chief engineer to help Kaylee with _Serenity's_ engine. He didn't have to do any of this, Mal—and they aren't asking for anything in return, either."

"Oh," Mal snorted, "so it's _Jonathan_ now, is it? And what's this about _Serenity_ bein' _in_ his ship? We can't get away?"

Inara looked heavenward, sighed. "The engine's _broken_ , Mal," she said, "we couldn't get away if we needed to—which we don't." Her eyes narrowed again, "and what do you care if I call him Jonathan?"

Mal just regarded her blandly. "He one of your clients now, is that it?"

Inara visibly paled, her eyes smouldering in rage. She lifted one slender finger to point down the corridor. "Your ship is that way, Mal. I hope you fall out an airlock." She all but sneered at him. "If you'll excuse me," she said with exaggerated politeness, "I believe _Jonathan_ is waiting to give me a tour of his bridge." She turned, took a step, turned back, "and I'm quite certain it's bigger than yours." She walked away.

"Well, I hope you don't fall off his mighty bridge yourself, then!" Mal shouted at her back. He turned and stalked in the other direction, heading, he hoped, towards his ship.

* * *

Jayne was standing in _Enterprise's_ gym, staring at—something. It was big, and round, with what looked like metal struts going every which way. The straps to hold your feet in were pointed towards the ceiling. There was also a metal harness of some kind at waist height, but for the life of him, Jayne couldn't figure out how it was supposed to work. Experimentally, he gave it a little push. The whole thing rotated towards him, so he had to duck quick to get out of the way. The foot-straps ended up pointing at the left wall.

"Fuckit," he muttered. He surveyed the rest of the room. It was large, way bigger than _Serenity's_ common area, and there were funny looking contraptions all over the place. He recognized a treadmill, but a close inspection hadn't helped him figure out how to turn that on, either. Same with the weight machines, and the bikes. He was just about to leave, to maybe get Book to spot him with the barbells back on _Serenity,_ when the door whooshed open. He whirled, immediately taking on a defensive posture.

It was the little Asian woman from before. She looked scared enough to swallow her own tongue. He relaxed his posture, crossed his arms, looked her up and down. She was wearing a small purple top that showed off her flat stomach, and loose grey pants. The material looked mighty soft.

"Purty," he said, leering.

She blushed, stammered, brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "You're John," she said, "from _Serenity,_ right?"

"Jayne," he said. "M'name's Jayne."

"Oh." Her blush deepened.

"I'm the one who hit your Cap'n," he clarified.

"I remember," she said, laughed nervously, "hard to forget." She made a small gesture at her arm, "did the, ah…?"

"M'shoulder's fine," he said, "just gave me a headache." He glowered, remembering, "I'm gonna kill the bastard that shot me, though."

She swallowed, "Oh."

"You workin' out?" He pointed at her with his chin.

"Yes," she said, "I usually do a set of the weights, and then about thirty minutes on the stationary bike." She looked towards the weird machines by the far wall, "but if I'm going to be in your way…"

"Nah," Jayne smirked, "you'll give me somethin' to look at."

She gave an uneasy smile, "oh, well." They stood quiet for a minute. Jayne could tell she was trying not to look at him.

"How they work?"

"What?"

"How they work? The machines?" Jayne repeated, pointing at one that looked most like a barbell.

"Oh," she said, actually smiling, "it's really quiet easy." She walked over to one of the machines, Jayne following, and indicated a small black box attached to the end of the seat. "You just press the 'on' button, press in your height, the amount of weight you want, and how many repetitions you want to do, and then press the 'go' button." She pushed them as she spoke, and the panel lit up, a small humming sound coming from the machine, "that's all there is to it." she lay back on it and put her small hands on the grips. She started working out, the machine making a strange, hissing noise.

Jayne stood behind her head, hands just underneath the bar.

She sat up, "what are you doing?"

"Spottin' you."

She burst out laughing, then immediately looked apologetic in response to his expression. "I'm sorry; it's just that these machines don't need spotters. The minute you let go, it stops."

"Oh, well. Okay then." Jayne felt like a fool, kinda like when Wash would make fun of him, sometimes. He hated feeling like that. "Guess I'll just go over here." He moved towards another machine that looked like it might be for biceps. He sat down, trying to repeat exactly what the girl had done. It asked for his height in metres. He had no idea how much a metre was.

"How tall you think I am?" He asked her,

She jumped, sat up and let go of the machine. It really did stop, just like she said. "How tall?"

Jayne nodded, "uh huh, I don't know metres."

The girl looked at him seriously, "well, you're taller than the Captain," she paused, "try 1.8 and see if that feels right."

"1.8 huh?" he said, "that good?" He smiled.

She smiled back, "it's tall." She had a pretty smile. He looked at the screen again. "It's in kilograms," he said.

She sat up again, "yes."

"How much is heavy?" he asked.

She laughed, eyes sparkling, and Jayne found himself beginning to relax. Maybe this ship wasn't so bad after all. "Well, you look very strong," she said, and blushed.

Jayne grinned. "Yep."

"Try twenty kilos to start," she said, "if that's not enough, just keep adding five or ten kilos until you're happy."

"Okay," he put in the number and pressed 'go.' After a minute, he upped the weight by ten, then ten more. That was good. He caught her watching. That was even better.

"So, what's your name?" he asked her.

She blushed again, "I'm sorry, I thought you knew already. It's Hoshi. It's Japanese," she added quickly.

"Hoshi," he repeated, the sound was strange, but kind of nice. Soft, like her.

"What's your job on _Serenity?_ " she asked,

Jayne looked at her. "Whatever Mal tells me."

She looked puzzled, "well, what's your rank?"

"I get the ship if Mal and Zoë die."

Now, she looked all nervous again, "so you're third in command?"

Jayne smiled, he liked the way that sounded. "Yeah." He looked at her, "what you do?"

She smiled again, "I'm an exolinguist, and the communications officer."

Jayne stopped lifting, "wha?"

Hoshi looked perplexed, frowning, "I'm an exolinguist. You know, I study alien languages."

"Those aliens spoke English."

"You mean T'Pol and Dr. Phlox?" Hoshi said, "of course they do, now, but they had to learn that. Just like I learn the languages of other species so Captain Archer can communicate with them. I also program the universal translator."

She was beginning to remind Jayne of Wash, all talkin' down to him, just more polite-like. "If the translatin's universal, what they need an x-o linguist for?" Everybody spoke English and Chinese, near as he could tell.

She looked strange at him, "I'm the one who programs the universal translator," she said, "without my skills, we couldn't talk to almost anyone out here."

"Huh," he grunted. They worked out in silence for a while.

"So, what did you study?" Hoshi asked.

"Study? You mean like schoolin'?" She nodded. "Got none," he replied, "had to stop when pa died."

"Oh," she said quietly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was a hard-drinkin' bastard with heavy fists."

"Oh," she said again. "I'm sorry to hear that, too."

Jayne snorted, "Just the way it was."

Hoshi moved to another machine, and Jayne went to the one that she was just on. She occupied herself with the controls. "How is your crewmate doing, the one with the burns?"

"Dunno," he replied, "I guess he's okay. Zoë's with him, and Simon."

"Zoë is your first officer, right?"

"Yeah, and Wash's wife," he said.

"Wash?"

"Yeah, Wash. The burned guy. Our pilot."

"Oh," she said, "it's just that Wash is an unusual name."

"So's Hoshi, and Trip, and T'Pol, and Phlox." Jayne started to lift.

Hoshi chuckled slightly, "I see your point." She paused, "and Simon's your doctor?"

"Uh-huh."

"He seems awfully young."

Jayne sat up, looked at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just, I, it didn't mean anything," she stammered, "he just seems, young."

"He ain't no boy." For some reason, what she said had made him angry. "He's a real fine doc. And he's human."

She stopped using her machine as well, sat up, looking mad. "There's nothing wrong with Dr. Phlox!" she said fiercely.

"So you say," he retorted, "doc can't even fix his own eerie-ass face. Simon put Mal's ear back on, just a couple weeks back. Now that's a good doctor."

She stood, really mad. "He saved the life of your Captain, and your pilot!" she yelled, "Your doctor couldn't do that!"

Jayne stood up too. "You got no right to talk so about Simon." He heard the door whoosh open behind him, but didn't turn around.

She put her little hands on her little hips, reminding him of Kaylee in a snit. "Well, you've got no right to say anything about Dr. Phlox! If you weren't so prejudiced—"

He took a step towards her, "well, if you weren't—"

"Am I interrupting?"

Jayne turned around quickly. For a moment he thought Badger had snuck up behind him, but it was that British bastard. The little man had his arms crossed in front of him, one eyebrow raised. Jayne took a step towards him. "You don't got your fancy ray-gun," he snarled.

The little bastard didn't even twitch. "I don't need it."

"Malcolm," Hoshi said, her voice half fear and half warning.

Jayne looked at Malcolm, figuring he'd take him out quick, with one or two punches. He'd go easy on the guy, didn't want to upset the girl too much. Some girls didn't like blood. He rushed towards him.

And ended up staring at the ceiling, wind fair knocked out of him. Malcolm's knee at his throat. "Like I said," the bastard continued, "I really don't need a weapon." In one graceful movement, he was back on his feet, brushing off his hands like Jayne was nothing more than dirt. Malcolm turned to Hoshi, "are you alright?" He moved to stand beside her, he put a protective hand on her shoulder.

The girl nodded numbly, "I'm fine."

Malcolm glanced at Jayne, "I'm sure he won't be bothering you again," he said pointedly.

Jayne sat up, still gasping; glowered at them, lumbered to his feet. He felt like a cow next to a fox. "To hell with you both," he muttered, and left. Wishing he could slam the door behind him. He headed slowly back to _Serenity._ He shoulda gone there in the first place.

* * *

"It's funny," Trip said, "I keep figurin' I'm talking to one of my cousins. Like Jennifer ended up in Starfleet, instead of going to law school."

The young blond woman turned and grinned at him. "That's real sweet of you to say, Commander," she said, "you seem right familiar your own self. Pass me that bunch of wires?"

"Talkin' to you is like bein' back home," Trip said, passing her the wires. "I like it."

"Yeah?" Kaylee asked, "well ain't you just the nicest thing. Charmin' and handsome."

Trip blushed. "Uh," he said quickly, "what are you doing with those?"

Kaylee was on her back, half-tucked up under the big monstrosity that was _Serenity's_ engine. She was soldering the wires together in no apparent order. She cocked her head. "The conduction paths got fried—all the wires need to be replaced. And the cooling fan, and I think one of the turbines has slipped, maybe. Plus Wash's consol, it's all burnt up."

"You have turbines?" Trip asked. He pointed at the wires, "those are conduction paths? How do you get to warp?"

Kaylee scooted out so that she was completely visible again. She had smudges of grease on her face, a bit in her hair. "What's 'warp' mean?" She asked.

Trip managed to not gape at her. "How about impulse power?"

She shook her head, looking like she might start gaping herself. "Ain't never heard of impulse power." She sat up. " _Serenity_ runs on fuel, grease, an' heart."

Trip smiled, then frowned, puzzled. "How about antimatter? Or dilithium?"

Kaylee giggled. "Dilithium sounds like somethin' you could eat! An' how can anti-matter be anything at all?"

Trip shook his head, amazed. "How does _Serenity_ fly?"

Kaylee grinned in delight and launched into a complex explanation, full of slang, involving a lot of pointing and side anecdotes that seemed to have nothing to do with actual engine mechanics. She spoke with such joy that Trip found himself wishing that _Enterprise's_ engines were as complicated, required more elbow grease and less science.

Trip laughed, shook his head when she'd finished. "I don't understand almost anything you just said."

She looked at him agog for a moment, then her eyes twinkled and she slapped his arm, laughing. "Oh, you!" She said, "you really had me goin' for a minute there—antimatter and dilithium an' all." She wiped a tear from her eye. "You're funnier n' Wash."

Before Trip could reply, Kaylee suddenly frowned. "I'm hungry. You got any more of those ration bars?"

Trip looked at her. "You really liked those bars?"

"Uh-huh," Kaylee nodded, "way better than resequenced protein."

"I wouldn't say 'way' better," Trip said, "but we can hit the mess if you like, get a snack or somethin'."

Kaylee's eyes lit up, and she bounced to her feet. "A real mess? Like, with food an' everythin'? An' no cookin' or cleanin' afterwards?" She grabbed his hand. "Can we go now?"

"Sure!" Trip grinned, "My shift finished about an hour ago anyway."

"Ooh!" Kaylee was ecstatic. "Tell me about the food! What can we eat? Do you have fruit? Real stuff? Apples?" She started pulling him along the corridor, retracing the steps back towards the ship's main hatch. "Do you have strawberries too?" She asked before Trip could even open his mouth to answer, "And chocolate? Do you got any of that? How about ice cream?"

Trip burst out laughing. "We have ice cream,"

"No chocolate?" she was crestfallen.

"Plenty of chocolate," Trip assured her, ruffled her hair with his free hand. "As much as you want."

"Wow," she said reverently. Then she batted his hand away, grinning. "Don't do that! Hey," she asked, "will Travis be there?"

"Travis?" He looked down at her. "I'm not sure if Travis'll be there, I think he's almost off shift—"

"Watch it," someone said. A man's voice.

Trip looked up, startled. He was staring directly into a pair of storm blue eyes. "Sweet Jesus." He murmured.

The other man took a step back, his eyes hooded. "I ain't him, but I would like to get in to see my ship."

"Mal!" Kaylee exclaimed. She let go of Trip's hand and threw her arms around her captain. "You're all right! I was so worried!" She paused, "how's Wash doin'?"

Mal patted her back, smiling down at her. "I don't rightly know, but he seems okay, since Simon and Zoë ain't frettin'." He looked at the commander, eyes questioning, nothing welcoming in them at all. "You're the one Archer sent." It sounded close to an accusation.

"That's right," Trip said. He stuck out his hand. "Charles Tucker." The other man just looked at him like he was something unpleasant.

Kaylee stepped back, opened her arm to encompass Trip. Her eyes were hopeful when she looked up at her captain. "He's been right kind, Mal, helpin' me with the engine."

Trip still held out his hand. "You can call me Trip," he said. He put on his most disarming smile.

The man finally shook his hand. His grip was very strong. "Mr. Tucker." He didn't introduce himself. Instead he dropped his hand, crossed his arms, looked at him. It took a minute for Trip to realize he was still standing in the doorway. He stepped aside.

"Malcolm Reynolds, captain of the _Serenity,_ " Kaylee said quickly. She gestured at Reynolds with both hands.

"Mr. Reynolds," Trip nodded.

Kaylee looked nervous. "I think I'll be headin' to the mess." She touched Reynolds' elbow. "You wanna come get some food?"

He barely glanced at her. "I was hopin' Mr. Tucker could show me what you two have been accomplishin' with the engine."

"Well," Trip admitted, "I didn't do much."

"I'm sure as you did enough," Reynolds said. Trip couldn't tell if it was a compliment or an insult. "Let's go see."

"Well, I'm off, then. See ya tomorrow, Commander?" Kaylee said.

Trip nodded, crossed his arms. "You bet."

He and the captain were still looking at each other. "Well, then," Reynolds said.

* * *

"Your ship is beautiful, Captain." Inara said. She let her gaze drift slowly around the well-lit bridge, taking in every consol, every neatly-uniformed officer. The smooth, clean lines; the feeling of purpose and efficiency.

"Thank you," Jonathan replied, clearly pleased, "she means a lot to me."

"I can tell," Inara smiled warmly at him. Their eyes met. Jonathan looked away. Inara lowered her eyes, waited, then lifted them again. Their eyes met for a second time.

Jonathan laughed self-depreciatingly. "Is it that obvious?"

"No," Inara said, "I'm just observant." She held his gaze for a fraction longer, then let it go, turning to look out the viewscreen at the stars. "It's magnificent."

"I know what you mean," Jonathan said, "I don't think I'll ever get tired of looking at it."

Inara turned back to him, "I hope you don't find me horribly provincial, since you had to explain so much to me. I've never seen a ship like this before." She ran her hand along the railing separating the bridge from the situation room, and lowered her gaze. She truly hoped he didn't.

He moved to stand beside her. "Actually," he said, and something in his tone made Inara feel brave enough to look at him again, "I find you a very intelligent and fascinating woman." His eyes crinkled.

"Thank you, Captain." She replied.

"I thought I told you to call me Jon," he said.

"I like Jonathan better," she smiled at him, "it suits you."

"Join me for dinner tonight," he said. His eyes were like jade. He reached out and gently touched her hand.

It was like a shock, almost painful, and Inara pulled her hand back. "I can't," She said, "I'm truly sorry. It's just—" suddenly, strangely, she felt her eyes fill with tears.

Jonathan brushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb, letting his fingertips rest on her cheek for a moment. His hand was warm. "I apologize," he said, "you must be exhausted."

She gave him a watery smile. "It has been a long day." She wiped delicately at her eyes, laughing lightly, "I don't usually do this."

He smiled. "I understand. It's perfectly all right."

"Thank you," Inara said softly, "you're a true gentleman."

Jonathan chuckled. "I don't think anyone has every called me that before."

Inara touched his cheek the way he had touched hers. Her thumb lingered beside the summer-green of his eye. "Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

He reached up, gently grasped her hand in his, brought it down to her side so that they were holding hands. "I'll have someone show you back to _Serenity._ " he said.

"Thank you," she said again. She let her hand slide out of his, feeling its absence. "I'll see you at eight o'clock tomorrow?"

"Oh eight-hundred for the briefing," he confirmed, "I look forward to it."

"As do I," she smiled, "good-night, Jonathan."

He turned his head to face the helmsman. "Travis, it's almost the end of your shift, would you mind seeing Inara back to her ship?"

Travis nodded, bounded over to Inara. "My pleasure."

"Good-night," Jonathan said as she stepped into the turbo lift. She held his gaze as the door slid shut.

* * *

Kaylee, the blonde girl from that strange ship, was in the mess hall. She was standing with a tray full of fruit, looking uncertain.

Travis gave her a big smile, waved her over as he pushed aside his empty tray. He pointed to a chair across from him and Hoshi. "There's room here," he called.

She came and sat beside him, plonking the tray down in front of her. Travis noticed that she had small smudges of grease across her cheek, and a bit in her hair. Delicately, she removed her heaping plate and pushed the tray aside, smiling sweetly at Hoshi and him. "I can't believe y'all get real fruit!"

Hoshi smiled back at her, "is that something hard to come by, where you're from?"

"Is it ever!" Kaylee exclaimed, "I ain't had a decent strawberry since the Cap took me to a big party down on Persephone." She looked wistful for a second, "that was a real nice night. Until the Cap punched Inara's date; that is." She popped a piece of fruit into her mouth. "Pineapple." She closed her eyes, savouring. Her mouth was stunningly sensual. Travis swallowed, looked away.

"Does your crew get into a lot of fights?" Hoshi sounded concerned.

Kaylee swallowed her fruit, laughed. "Oh, sure!" She said, "All the time! Like, last Unification Day? Mal and Jayne and Zoë were in a bar an' this guy tried to make Mal drink to the Alliance, and Mal got all offended and hit him." She plucked another piece of fruit, "there was a big brawl." She put the piece in her mouth and smiled.

Travis shook his head, laughing. "Wow," he said. "Does this happen all the time?" He leaned towards her. She had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose; her eyes were a sparkly green, like sunlight on fresh water.

Kaylee nodded. "Pretty much, there's lots of shoutin,' too. Zoë and Wash fight a lot. And Jayne gets on everybody's nerves. Book's calm, though, and Inara." She sucked on a grape, thinking, and Travis had to look away again. "Simon and Mal argue sometimes, about his sister mostly. But he's real nice when he ain't bein' all snooty." She put her chin in her hand. "There was that time when Mal hit Simon, and Simon drugged Jayne once, so he wouldn't take over the ship when Zoë and Mal were gone."

Hoshi's eyes were wide. "Jayne told me he was third in command."

"Oh, he is," Kaylee agreed. She chewed on another morsel of pineapple. "We just don't like to let him do too much."

Hoshi took a long sip of her tea, studiously looking into the cup. "That sounds…chaotic."

Kaylee laughed, like a tinkling of bells, "I guess it might just be."

Hoshi set her cup down. "How do you work like that?"

Kaylee blinked, "We just do. Mal gives the orders, and we do 'em, just like here, I guess."

"Don't you ever get frightened?" Hoshi asked.

Kaylee put down the piece of fruit she had been holding, studied her plate. "Sometimes, like when Mal got took by Niska, and we all went to get him. Some of Niska's men almost got onto _Serenity._ I was real scared then. Or that time when the bounty hunter came for River, and I got tied up in the engine room." She looked up again, "And that time when the engine died, and our life support failed, and Zoë got hit by the explosion. But I was mostly worried for Mal when we left him behind." She smiled suddenly, "life on a starship, I guess."

Hoshi looked aghast. "That sounds horrible!"

Kaylee shrugged. "It ain't so bad. Lot's more good stuff happens than bad stuff. Like when Jayne bought us all apples!" She beamed.

Travis smiled at her in genuine admiration. "You're so resilient."

She blushed. "T'ain't nothin'." She smiled at him through her lashes. "I'm sure y'all have experienced much worse, big ship like this." She looked up. "Y'all are soldiers, right?"

Travis shook his head, "Not really. Starfleet is a military organization, but we're more explorers than soldiers. We're not out here to fight with anyone."

"Although it's happened more than once." Hoshi added, grimacing.

"Yeah?" Kaylee asked, "against who? Alliance folk? Reavers?"

"Neither," Travis said, "the first time I ever heard about Reavers or the Alliance was when we met you and your crew."

"Oh," Kaylee said, frowning. She smiled again, "Y'all ain't missin' much."

"Probably not." Travis laughed. They were looking straight at each other. He swallowed again. She bit her lip, grinned, eyes flashing.

"How's your fruit?" Hoshi said.

"Hmmm? Oh!" Kaylee said, turned to look at Hoshi, "wonderful! Y'all are so lucky you get this all the time."

"I guess we are," Travis said. "I've never really thought about it before." He realized he would never take it for granted again.

Kaylee took a sliver of melon from her half-empty plate, looking at Travis, "Trip says you're the pilot, that so?"

Travis grinned, "You were asking about me?"

"You bet." They shared another look.

Hoshi cleared her throat, "So, Kaylee," she said, "how many crewmembers do you have on your ship?"

Kaylee turned back to Hoshi. "Nine, includin' River, Inara and Book, but they're not really crew. Passengers mostly. Though Book comes in pretty handy in a fire fight. You wouldn't think so about him, being a preacher an' all, but it's true."

"You can say that again," Travis replied, "Book and Zoë scared the hell out of me when we first met them on _Serenity._ He really looked like he knew how to shoot. They both did."

"Zoë used to be a soldier with Mal," Kaylee explained, "that's how they met. I'm not sure where Book—" Suddenly her eyes widened, "oh no!" she cried, "Book's all alone on _Serenity!_ He don't know about the food!" She stood to get up. "I plum forgot to even ask him if he wanted to come."

"I brought Inara back to your ship about an hour ago," Travis said, standing with her. He really didn't want her to leave. "Wouldn't she tell him?"

"I don't know," Kaylee looked uncertain, "she might've gone right to her shuttle. Not even seen him at all."

"I can bring him something," Hoshi said, "what would he like?"

Kaylee turned to her, "You don't have to do that! You're not even finished your drink."

"It's all right," Hoshi smiled at her, "actually, I'd really like to see your ship anyway. If that's okay."

"Sure!" Kaylee beamed, "Mal's there too, maybe he'll give you a tour."

Hoshi's smile flickered for a moment, "is Jayne there?"

"I don't rightly know," Kaylee said. "Book would love some fruit though, and maybe some of that nice pie I saw over there. And a sandwich." She thought a second, "and maybe some milk."

Travis laughed. He was utterly charmed.

"I think that can be arranged," Hoshi said, clearly amused. "See you tomorrow morning at the briefing," she said to them both, moved off to get a tray.

Travis and Kaylee looked at each other. Travis couldn't stop smiling. He gestured at her plate, "Aren't you going to finish your fruit?"

Kaylee wiped her hands on her hips, then stuck them in her back pockets. "I was kinda hopin' you'd give me a tour?" She said almost shyly. "I ain't seen much of the _Enterprise,_ yet, and it seems so grand…"

"It would be my pleasure," Travis said. He offered her his arm, "shall we?"

Kaylee giggled, straightened her back and took his arm like they were heading to a ball. "Thank you, kind sir," she said, eyes twinkling.

He escorted her out.

* * *

Simon sat on the couch out in front of the infirmary. Legs stretched out in front of him, arms spread across the backrest. He was looking at the broken glass from where Jayne shot out the porthole of the door. The glass had scattered across the deck, glinting subtly in the low light.

He felt like that. Broken apart and scattered. He hadn't felt so completely out of control since River had been taken, and his family wouldn't help him get her back. He had hoped to never feel that way again. At least she was in bed now, asleep. Hopefully tonight they would both be spared her nightmares.

"What a fucking awful day," he muttered. His jaw still hurt, and he rubbed the spot absently. That morning, he had thought they were going to be tortured to death by Reavers. He had counselled Jayne to kill himself; a doctor, telling someone that death was the best option. Then, he'd woken up, hurt but alive; and completely helpless to heal Mal and Wash. He'd been sure that at least one of them would be dead by nightfall. And then: Military men, from an army he'd never heard of, who worked with _aliens,_ and were casual about technology he had never imagined. He had even overheard their captain tell Mal that they thought _Serenity_ had somehow come through to another universe. River seemed to agree; he didn't know what that meant.

He supposed he should have been thrilled, ecstatic that they were all right, that this ship had medical equipment able to fix Mal and Wash like they'd never even been injured. Instead, it frightened him. He felt like a first-year med student again. Worse: back then, he'd known what he was getting into, had his education and experience as a basis for comparison. Now, he had nothing.

He figured he should go to bed, that a good night's rest would help ease him, but he was too tired to move; the pattern of the glass too compelling. He let his head loll forward on his chest, his eyes lose focus. The glass blurred into spreading rainbows of light.

There was the sound of glass crunching underfoot, boots obscuring the colours. Simon was too tired to be startled.

"Y'alright, doc?" Jayne asked.

"Shiny," Simon said without moving. "Absolutely the shiniest I have ever been."

"Fuck you," Jayne growled "I was just askin'."

Simon sighed, raised his head with effort. "Sorry. Just not feeling myself tonight."

Jayne snorted, sat down heavily beside him. "No kiddin'." He looked at the glass on the floor. "Ever had a situation where you wanted to do damage to someone, but couldn't lay a hand on 'em?"

"Can't say that I have," Simon replied. "Anyone I know?"

"Nope."

They sat in silence.

"I almost shot you." Jayne said suddenly.

Simon looked at him sharply, moved his hands down. "What?"

"This mornin'," Jayne continued, "when I thought the Reavers were comin' in. You was out, on the floor, all helpless." He paused. "I even pressed Vera's muzzle 'gainst your head."

Simon rubbed his temple, imagining the touch of metal there. "What stopped you?"

"Dunno." Jayne said. His eyes were fixed on the glass on the floor. "Just couldn't, is all."

"I'm glad you didn't," Simon said, smiled briefly.

Jayne turned sharply, blue eyes blazing. "I don't think you woulda been so gorram happy if it had been Reavers!" He turned and looked at the floor again, "just couldn't," he repeated.

"But Reavers didn't get us," Simon said slowly. He narrowed his eyes slightly, leaned forward, still looking at Jayne. "So why are we having this conversation?"

"We ain't." Jayne stood up.

Simon leaned back on the couch, crossed his arms loosely and leaned his head back. "Fine. No conversation." He closed his eyes. "Good night, Jayne."

"I shoulda had the guts to shoot you." Jayne said.

Simon's eyes shot open. "What?"

Jayne turned towards him again. "I didn't know it weren't Reavers. Shoulda shot you dead. Kept 'em from gettin' ya."

"I'm touched that you wanted to save me by blowing my brains out," Simon said, "but fortunately, there wasn't a need. So I'd say it all worked out for the best." He leaned back again, closing his eyes. "Good night."

"You don't unnerstand," Jayne said.

"Yes I do," Simon replied, "you wish you'd shot me because that's what big, bad mercenaries do. Instead you decided to save ammunition. To shoot Book, apparently." His eyes cracked open. "But the point of this story is that there were _no_ Reavers, Jayne. So it's fine." He let his eyes slide shut. "Good night."

Jayne reached down and grabbed a fistful of Simon's shirt, hauling him upright like the doctor weighed no more than a child. Simon's eyes flew open, and he was staring into Jayne's: blue and angry as a raging sea. "You don't get it, doc," Jayne snarled, "for all we knew, the gorram ship was overrun with gorram Reavers. I was the only one standin' between you and a dyin' worse than death. And I didn't do nothin.' They would'a had you, boy, would'a done whatever they wanted with you. You would'a been beggin' t'die. And that _ain't_ fine."

"Let me go, Jayne," Simon said, voice low and hard.

Jayne shook him. "You don't get it!" he repeated, yelling.

"I get it!" Simon yelled back, "you feel guilty because you were too much of a coward to let me die!"

"I ain't no gorram coward!" Jayne shouted.

"If you're not a coward," Simon was still yelling, "then why the hell didn't you kill me?" The question was ludicrous, but Simon was too mad to care. Jayne's huge fist was still wrapped tight around his collar.

Jayne's eyes narrowed. "Here's why," he spat.

And he pulled Simon forward and kissed him.

Simon let out an inarticulate squeak, tried to pull back, but Jayne was far stronger and still had a death-grip on his shirt. The mercenary took advantage of Simon's mouth opening, thrust his tongue in. Simon felt it rasp along his teeth.

And he bit down. Jayne yelped, hauled his head back, let go of Simon's shirt and slapped his hand over his mouth. "What the fuck you do that for?" Jayne exploded.

They glowered at each other, breathing hard. Simon's heart was pounding in his chest, almost painful. "You didn't even ask!" Simon hollered.

Jayne blinked. "You wanted me to ask?"

"Yes I did!" Simon paused; the revelation was like getting hit with a brick. A nice brick. "Yes, I did."

Jayne's mouth quirked up. "Can I kiss ya?"

"No," Simon said. He grabbed Jayne's head, yanking the mercenary down to him, kissed him, long and hard. Slowly, reluctantly, he moved back and let go.

"Well, ain't that somethin,'" Jayne's voice was husky.

It took Simon a moment to get his breath back. "River's asleep in her bunk," he said finally.

"My room, then." Jayne said.

Simon smiled, "Let's go."

* * *

Mal and Tucker were in the engine room of _Serenity,_ Mal was watching the other man as he pointed out the areas that he and Kaylee had been working on. New wires had been soldered for conducting paths, and apparently they were going to need a new fan, and at least half a day to properly re-align the port-side turbine. Tucker said that Kaylee felt Wash's consol could be fixed in only an hour or two. That was good news. Mal didn't want to stay a moment longer than was necessary.

He let his gaze wander over the engineer, pretending to listen. Tucker was a fine looking man. Tall, blond, with blue eyes that could go from soft to piercing in a heart beat. Mal smirked to himself, it might be worth goading him a little more, just to see that happen again. Mal admired the way Tucker's shoulders stretched out his uniform when he moved his arms; the way his back tapered down to his ass; his long legs. Tucker was clearly caught up in his explanation, enjoying all this technical fei-oo he was babbling about.

Mal was idly wondering whether Tucker's hair would feel as soft as it looked when he realized the other man was looking at him, blue-eyes expectant.

"You listenin' to me?" Tucker said, "or am I wastin' my breath here?"

Mal crossed his arms. "All I need to know is how fast she's gonna be fixed."

Tucker crossed his arms as well, blue-eyes narrowed, hard. Mal almost grinned. "Well," Tucker said, "if you'd been listenin', you would know me and Kaylee think it's not gonna take more than a day or so, especially if I get more of my crew down here."

Mal felt his hackles rise. "How many crew?"

"At least four or five." Tucker replied, "depends."

"Three, max." Mal said, "I don't need more of you strangers ruttin' around my ship."

Tucker looked at him, threw up his hands. "I don't believe this! What is the problem with all you people?"

"Got no problem," Mal said, "just like our privacy, is all."

Tucker crouched down, began picking up his tools. "Fine. I got better things to do than worry about this engine of yours," he snarled, "tell Kaylee I'm sorry that I won't be able to help her tomorrow." He stood, silver case in hand, "'Course, guess that means you have to suffer our hospitality for a few more days, but I guess Kaylee can handle all the repairs on her own."

"I don't doubt it." Mal said, "she always has before."

Tucker looked hard at him, "You're a real piece of work, y'know that? Lettin' a sweet thing like Kaylee work her butt off, alone, just 'cause of your ego."

"Ain't none of your concern." Mal said.

"That's bullshit, Captain!" Tucker swore, "since we were unfortunate enough to come across your ship dead in space, it's been all we've been concerned about!" He took a step closer, finger like a nail on Mal's breastbone, "you got a wounded man up there, our concern, crew to feed, our concern, and a broken ship takin' up most of our cargo bay, more definitely our concern! So don't give me that crap, that it ain't nothin' for us to worry about, 'cause we're already knee-deep in it as it is."

Mal stared pointedly at Tucker's finger until the engineer pulled it back. "Never asked for your help," he said. "Leastways, I didn't."

Tucker's eyes blazed. "And I bet your man Wash would be just thrilled with that. Oh—wait, he'd be dead," he said sarcastically. "Sure his wife would appreciate your need for _privacy_ then."

Tucker was right. Mal knew it. Even if this had been an Alliance ship, warrants on them all, he would have begged for their help; there was no way he would have let Wash die. But Mal couldn't help himself: "Zoë'd understand."

Tucker burst out laughing. "You're psychotic!" he wheezed, wiping his eyes.

Mal found himself smiling. "That's come up once or twice."

Tucker shook his head, looking both amused and exasperated. "Why don't you just give the 'hard-ass' routine a rest, and let us help you?" he said, "you'll see the back of us soon enough."

Mal grinned evilly. "Wouldn't mind getting' a view of your backside, now."

Tucker blushed; choked, spluttered, blushed some more. "You're crazy!" he finally managed.

"Maybe," Mal agreed. He nodded towards the silver case in Tucker's hand. "Why don't you put that down. You and Kaylee will need it tomorrow." He sighed. "And who are the two crewmen you're gonna bring with you?"

Tucker smiled himself. "I said four or five."

"Three."

"Done." Tucker's smile broadened, he stuck out his hand.

Mal took it, "you can call me Mal, Mr. Tucker."

Tucker held his gaze, "you can call me Trip, Mal."

"I just might do that," Mal said. He looked towards the engine room exit. "Now, Kaylee was mentionin' somethin' about a mess? With real food?"

Trip looked at him, "you askin' me to dinner?"

"I'm askin' where I can go eat," Mal replied, "if you wanna call it dinner, that's fine by me."

Trip clapped him on the shoulder. "You can ask me to dinner."

"Good." Mal said. They left together.

* * *

Hoshi was standing in the common area of _Serenity,_ holding the package Chef had neatly wrapped for her against her chest. "Hello?" She called. She sounded nervous and she hated it, but she didn't know where Jayne was. The thought of having to confront him without any other _Enterprise_ crew around was more than a little frightening.

_Get a grip, Hoshi,_ she thought viciously to herself. "Hello?" She called again, making her voice normal, relaxed. "Book?"

"Hello?" the doorway in front of her opened, and Book came through. He was dressed in a grey shirt with a high collar, and he carried a book in his hands. He smiled when he saw her. "Are you looking for me?"

"Hi," Hoshi said, relieved. "Kaylee said you might be hungry. I brought you some food from our mess."

"How sweet of Kaylee to think of me," he said, "and how thoughtful of you to bring it." He sat down at their table, Hoshi saw that it had enough chairs for everybody, though they were all mismatched. She assumed the crew must all eat together. The idea was oddly comforting. Book gestured at a seat opposite him, "Please, sit," he said.

Hoshi sat. "I don't think we've been introduced," Hoshi said, giving him the package of food, "I'm Hoshi Sato, Communications Officer for _Enterprise._ "

"I thought you were from _Enterprise,_ " Book teased gently. Hoshi blushed. He put his book on the table beside him and opened the bag, pulling out a large container of fruit, two sandwiches, four desserts and two sealed glasses of milk. His eyes widened and he laughed. "There's enough here for the entire crew!"

Hoshi's blush deepened. "I think Chef was pleased he was able to feed one of our guests," she explained, "He got a little carried away." Book settled the food in front of him. "Well, I guess I should go," Hoshi said, feeling awkward, "leave you to eat in peace." She moved to stand up.

"No, stay." Book said, placing his hand gently on her wrist. He smiled, "I could use the company."

"Oh," Hoshi settled back down. "Well, if you don't mind."

"Can I offer you anything?" Book asked, indicating the pile of food in front of him, "there is too much for me to eat."

"I just finished dinner, actually," Hoshi replied, "but thanks."

"Some tea, then?" Book said. Without waiting for an answer, he stood and moved to their stove, placing the kettle on a burner. He turned and smiled at her. "You look like the tea-drinking type."

"That's true," Hoshi smiled. For some reason the innocent statement made her feel shy. "Kaylee called you a Shepherd," she said, "what does that mean?"

Book got two cups ready. "I suppose it means that I bring lost sheep home," he said, "I'm a man of God."

"Do all cargo ships in your—" she faltered, "do all cargo ships have priests with them?" she asked.

"Not at all," Book smiled as he began to pour the water, "in fact, Mal is a little uncomfortable with my being here. I'm just a passenger."

"I hope your trip hasn't been badly delayed by all this," she said.

Book smiled, "I don't really have a destination, actually." He said, "I go where the ship goes." At Hoshi's questioning look, he added, "I though it was time I saw a bit more of the universe."

"Don't you miss your family?" Hoshi asked, "sometimes I think that's the hardest part of being out here: being so far from home."

"Men of my order don't marry." Book said, "but I do miss my brothers from the monastery from time to time." He smiled, " _Serenity_ feels like my home now."

"Kaylee said that the crew fought a lot." Hoshi said, "she said that you and Inara were the only one's who didn't really get involved."

Book laughed, "She said that?" He brought the cups over and sat down, passing one to Hoshi. He took the top off of one container of milk and poured a bit into his mug. "Fresh milk," He sighed in pleasure.

"Isn't it true?" Hoshi asked. Kaylee had sounded very convincing when she had spoken about the crew.

"Oh, it's true all right." Book replied, "You can't pack nine different people into such a small space and not expect some conflicts." He took a bite of one of the sandwiches, expression appreciative. "Good," he murmured happily.

"Doesn't that worry you?" Hoshi continued, "I mean, all the fights?" She shuddered involuntarily, thinking of Jayne.

"Not really," Book said between bites, "they're all good folk."

"Jayne scares me." Hoshi said quietly.

"He's not so bad," Book said, "I spend a lot of time with him. He's actually quite thoughtful and intelligent, in his own way. And generous, and kind."

"He doesn't seem that way," Hoshi said.

"Looks can be deceiving." Book raised his eyebrows.

Hoshi blushed, feeling like she were back in school. "I suppose you're right," she said. "After all, it was him judging Dr. Phlox that caused me not to like him. Maybe I'm just doing the same thing."

"I'm not saying Jayne's the easiest to get along with, mind you." Book said, "he can be belligerent and crude." He started on the other sandwich.

Hoshi laughed, "I can believe it." She picked up the book beside his plate. "You're reading Latin?" she asked.

"I always felt it was best to go to the source for one's knowledge," Book said, "I have the Talmud in Hebrew as well."

Hoshi looked at him, impressed. "Not many people can read ancient languages nowadays," she said.

"Those are my only two, I'm afraid," Book said. He took a sip of tea. "Now, why do you know Latin?" he asked, "you don't strike me as a biblical scholar."

"Actually, I'm a trained exolinguist," Hoshi said, "it's my job to translate for the Captain whenever we come across a new species."

Book looked surprised, "how many new species have you met out here? And how can you possibly translate for all of them? I thought that the Denobullans and Vulcans were the only other species around."

"Actually," Hoshi clarified, "Vulcans and Denobullans are only two of hundreds of species out here. We meet more all the time." She sat back, calculating. "I think we've met nearly twenty-four new species since we left space dock about a year ago."

Book's eyes were very wide. "Twenty-four? And you can speak to all of them?"

"Not really," Hoshi admitted, "I've learned a few languages, but mostly I program our Universal Translator, so the computer can translate for us."

"I didn't think there was any such thing as aliens at all," Book said. "It does alter one's views somewhat."

"Tell me about it!" Hoshi agreed, "you can't believe how shocked I was when you spoke English. We really didn't expect to be meeting other humans out here—not so far away from Earth."

"How odd," Book said. He opened the container of fruit. "I'm surprised to hear that—that you don't run into many other humans. There are billions of them, on hundreds of planets."

Hoshi shook her head. "I think we'll be discussing that at the briefing tomorrow morning. It seems your history has been vastly different from ours. Humanity is just beginning to explore in our universe. _Enterprise_ is the first Earth ship out here."

"Amazing," Book said, "it's so different to what I know." He smiled briefly, "I don't think I've really absorbed what that might mean." He took another sip of tea. "But that must be so lonely for you, being the only humans out here, in this universe."

Hoshi looked at her hands around the mug, "it's not so much the loneliness," she said, "I consider the bridge crew to be like a second family. It's the uncertainty. Never knowing what's going to happen; if the next people we meet will want to shoot at us, or invite us home for dinner."

"That sounds hard to deal with," Book said.

Hoshi nodded. "Sometimes, I feel so afraid," she said, "afraid we'll meet some hostile alien, and I'll panic; that I'll let my colleagues down." She continued to stare at her hands.

"I think we all feel that," Book said, "I've never felt quite so helpless as when Mal and Wash were kidnapped by Niska."

"Kaylee mentioned that," Hoshi said, "who is he?"

"A very evil man," Book said. "He took Mal and Wash and tortured them. I didn't think we would ever see them again."

Hoshi looked up, eyes wide. "What did you do?"

Book shrugged, "Zoë was able to buy Wash's life from Niska. They made up a plan to rescue Mal and I went along with them." He smiled over the rim of his cup. "Jayne came too."

"Weren't you afraid?" Hoshi asked.

"Terrified," Book laughed, "I think God heard a lot of prayers from me that day!" He sobered, "but it didn't matter. I just kept my mind on the objective."

"Sometimes I find it so hard to do that." Hoshi said softly.

"That's where I find belief to be so helpful," Book said.

Hoshi looked away, "I don't think my faith in God could ever be that strong."

Book touched her arm lightly, and Hoshi looked back at him. "I didn't just mean faith in God," Book said, his gaze held hers. "I meant belief in yourself."

Hoshi looked down. "You make it sound so easy."

Book smiled gently, "faith is never easy," he said, "it's an exercise of will; a daily struggle."

"I don't think I've ever had that much will-power." Hoshi said.

"You're still out here, aren't you?" Book asked, "Still facing your fears everyday. That takes a lot of will, I think."

Hoshi sighed. "Everyone on board does that. It doesn't feel like a big accomplishment."

"Maybe it should." Book said.

"I wish I could believe that," Hoshi said.

"You have to," Book replied, "because it's true. And if you don't believe in yourself, you can't believe in anything."

"I don't know how."

"You don't have to do it all on your own," Book said, "look at how your colleagues treat you, the enormous faith they have in you. Use their faith as the foundation for your own."

"Is that what you do?" Hoshi asked quietly. She played with her cup.

"Every day," Book said, "every day."

* * *

River wasn't in her bunk.

She padded silently down the corridors of _Enterprise._ Her bare feet made almost no sound against the deck. It was cool beneath her feet, like little splashes of water under her toes. The ship was so big, so grey; the corridors only half-lit with the coming of night. _No night in space,_ River thought, _no day, no time at all._ She ran her fingertips along the bulkhead as she walked, feeling the rough-smooth textures of the walls. She could feel the people on the ship: curled up in their beds, warm and cozy. It made her smile.

Pointy-ears wasn't asleep. River knew that, long before she reached her cabin. The alien woman's thoughts were like the stars, cool points of light among the blackness of the sleeping crew. River liked that: that coolness, that sense of calm. It drew her like thirst to water. She wanted to be near it. She knew Pointy-ears would understand things; she wanted to be near that, too.

She tapped gently on the door, and it slid open almost right away. River smiled at the neatness of it, how smooth.

"Hello, River." T'Pol said, voice soft and even, "to what do I owe this visit?"

River came in, sat down cross-legged, opposite T'Pol on the other side of the small table with the candle in the centre. "Hi," River said.

T'Pol raised a single eyebrow. "What may I do for you, River?"

River reached out, gently touched the middle of T'Pol's forehead. "You have such peace in there," she said. "Jayne is turmoiled; Simon is in pain; Mal is dark and sad. Kaylee is like fireflies, too hard to grab." River lowered her hand.

"I understand." T'Pol said.

River beamed. "Knew you would."

T'Pol reached out then, lightly touching River's face. "I can feel your thoughts," she said, "they come too fast and give you no respite." She removed her fingers, "it must be difficult for you."

"Always," River nodded. "Always; little bits all the time. Can't let go, can't forget even for a moment." She hesitated, "I picked up a branch, once. It became a gun in my hands."

"That was frightening." T'Pol said.

"Yes," River said, "but you don't feel."

"I do not," T'Pol agreed, "but I am still aware of emotions."

"I feel everything." River said. She began running her finger back and forth in and out of the flame. "Everything burns." She held her hand still.

Immediately, T'Pol grabbed her hand, moving her finger out of the fire. Her hand was cool. "Physical pain will not help you," T'Pol said. She let go.

River let her hands drop into her lap. "Simon can't make it stop."

"Do you want Simon to make it stop?" T'Pol asked.

"No!" River said. "Not all of it. I like knowing, sometimes."

"Do you think I can help you?"

"Don't know," River said, "but you understand."

"I can teach you how to meditate," T'Pol offered, "some humans have found it helpful in controlling their emotional responses to situations."

"Some humans," River repeated. "Lots of humans on this ship, lots of emotions. Too much for a Vulcan. One to eighty-two. The ratio is all wrong."

"It is true that I am the only Vulcan on board _Enterprise,_ " T'Pol said, "but I have come to appreciate my human colleagues. Their emotionality can be a benefit, as well as a burden."

"You were a rock in a desert," River said, "now you're a rock in water. It's cooler, not so harsh. Water is soft, flows around stone, but touches it too, changes it.

T'Pol nodded solemnly. "That description is apt," she said, "there are times when I believe I am no longer the woman I was."

River smiled. "The path back is all overgrown: we can see it, but we can't walk it anymore."

"Sometimes I remember who I was," T'Pol said, "before _Enterprise._ I find the change," she paused, "unsettling."

"'They say the owl was a baker's daughter,'" River quoted, "'we know what we are, but not what we may be.'" She grinned. "I like owls."

"I too, am no longer certain of what I may become," T'Pol said quietly.

"Don't know what I _am,_ " River said.

"You are a young woman," T'Pol said with certainty, "that is enough for now." She gestured smoothly at the candle, still burning on the table. "If you are to learn to meditate, we should begin."

* * *

Kaylee and Travis were standing quietly in one of the _Enterprise's_ lounges.

"This is my favourite place on the ship," Travis said, "besides the 'sweet spot' I showed you earlier. It's small, quiet," he gestured towards the window, "and the view is amazing." The stars were still tonight, _Enterprise_ at rest while they dealt with the problem of _Serenity._ Kaylee turned from him to look out the window, silent.

"It's getting late," Travis said, finally. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Kaylee. Her profile was etched by the dim glow of the stars. He could see she was crying. "Hey," he said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder, "what's wrong?"

"Nothin'," she said, "an' everythin'." She gave a watery sigh. "It's so beautiful. The stars, your ship." She turned to face him, "you."

Travis smiled shyly, "I hope I'm not making you cry," he said.

Kaylee shook her head. "You're one of the nicest folk I've ever met."

"And that's making you cry?" Travis laughed gently, "shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"I guess," Kaylee gave a small laugh, wiped her eyes. "It's just all so big, y'know? So shiny."

"I know what you mean," Travis said, "I felt the same way when I first got to Starfleet, after living on a cargo ship my whole life."

"I remember you tellin' me." Kaylee said. She sighed again. "I just never figured all this would be out here, y'know?" She touched her fingertips to the glass. "I feel so strange, like most of me wants to go home, to _Serenity,_ but part of me wants to stay here. To never have to let this go."

"It's not going anywhere," Travis said, "you don't have to choose tonight."

Kaylee turned, looked at him again, placed her hand on his chest. "Tonight," she said, "I choose you."

Travis cupped her cheek with his hand, smiling. "I wanted you to say that since I met you." He bent his head and kissed her, sweetly, full of promise.

* * *

Jon stood at the front of the Ready room, surveying the large group before him.

T'Pol was standing to his left, Phlox to his right. The middle of the room was crowded, with _Serenity_ crew on one side, and _Enterprise_ bridge staff on the other. He noted that his helmsman and Kaylee were standing close together, hands almost touching. The sight made him smile. Trust Travis to make a friend so quickly.

He saw Captain Reynolds leaning against the wall at the back. Jon frowned. He really didn't like that man. Jayne, the man who had hit him, was standing near to his captain. Jon didn't like him either. In fact, he thought as he surveyed Reynolds' crew, the only ones he _did_ like were Kaylee and River. Hoshi had said that Book was a kind man, though, and he trusted her judgement. Their doctor seemed reasonable, although incredibly young for such a responsibility. His eyes sought out the dark haired woman standing near the front. Inara smiled at him, and he found himself grinning back. She was dressed more simply this morning, in a blue dress with small embroidery at the neck and hem. Her hair was loose and cascading over her shoulders. He had no question about how he felt about Inara. With effort, he tore his gaze away.

Trip was standing on the other side of Reynolds, also leaning up against the wall, their shoulders brushing against each other. Every once in a while, Trip would turn his head slightly and say something to Reynolds, and the man would actually smile. Sometimes, Jon figured Trip could charm the ears off a Vulcan. He just hoped his Chief Engineer and the Captain weren't getting too friendly. Trip wore his heart on his sleeve, and as far as Jon could tell, Reynolds had none.

Zoë was there, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet and back. She kept looking at the doorway, and Jon knew she'd return to Sick bay to see husband as soon as the briefing was over; Simon was standing with his sister, his arm protectively around her shoulder; River had an enigmatic smile. Book had taken one of the only available seats, and sat, one leg crossed over the other near the front of the room. He looked utterly comfortable. The only one who did.

Hoshi and Malcolm were standing together at the far end of the room. Malcolm stood very near Hoshi. Was she leaning back against the lieutenant? Jon couldn't tell from this angle, and decided he probably didn't want to know. Whatever was going on, he knew they'd be discreet.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming this morning," Jon said, "we have a lot to discuss." There were a few nods of agreement from the group, but everyone stayed silent. Jon turned towards Phlox. "To start," he said, "I thought you might like to know the status of your crewmate. Zoë has given Dr. Phlox permission to tell you all how Wash is doing." He gestured towards Phlox, "Doctor?"

"Thank you, Captain." Phlox said. He moved in front of the group. "You will all be pleased to know that I expect Wash to make a full recovery."

The relief of the _Serenity_ crew was palpable. Kaylee clapped her hands and gave a 'whoop' of joy; Inara closed her eyes briefly, letting go of a held breath. Even Reynolds was grinning; Jayne pounding him on the shoulder like the captain had been responsible for it.

"That's excellent news, Doctor," Simon said, "when will I be able to take over his care?"

Phlox turned to the young man. "Not until he is totally healed, I'm afraid," he said, "currently, I am employing a zoological technique; it cannot be interrupted until the process has completely finished. It shouldn't be more than another 12 hours, 24 at the most before Wash will be able to return to your ship." Phlox gave a characteristic grin, "in fact, I have never seen Crys work this hard to help someone before. Wash must have quite an exceptional personality."

"Depends who you ask," Jayne said, and the _Serenity_ crew laughed. Even Zoë.

"Does anyone have any questions about Wash before we continue?" Jon surveyed the group. Reynolds looked like he wanted to say something, but Trip touched the back of his hand and Reynolds kept quiet. Feeling like he had just dodged a bullet, Jon continued. "As you may already be aware, there is a theory shared by my bridge crew that your vessel and ours do not come from the same universe. In fact—"

"What the hell?" Jayne said, he turned to Reynolds. "What the hell kinda shit is this?"

Reynolds raised his hand, "Let the man speak," he said sharply. Jayne crossed his arms, fell silent.

Jon tried not to blink at Reynolds' willingness to listen. Trip must have been even more charming than he had originally thought. "In fact," he said, "T'Pol has a theory that your ship actually came through a wormhole from your universe to ours." He turned to T'Pol. "My Sub-Commander, T'Pol and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed will now explain the process of how your ship got here, and how we are planning on getting you back."

"Told him to watch the hole." River whispered. Simon shushed her quietly.

"Thank you," T'Pol inclined her head almost regally. She walked to the wall to Jon's right and pressed a few buttons beside the wall screen. A diagram came up of the wormhole that T'Pol theorized the _Serenity_ came through. Apparently, during it's flight from the Reavers, Reynolds' ship was on exactly the right trajectory at exactly the right moment, to allow them to pass through from one universe to the other.

Jon paid only scant attention as T'Pol gave her explanation; the Vulcan had debriefed him earlier that morning. Instead, he watched Inara: the expressions that played over her face as she listened. Her countenance showed only interest, her stance formal but relaxed. But her shoulders were tense, and her knuckles had gone white where she clasped her hands. She seemed frightened to him and he wondered why; she had been present when T'Pol had first attempted to explain her findings to Reynolds, none of this should have been a surprise to her.

T'Pol was now explaining why _Serenity_ had incurred such damage on it's passage through the wormhole. The energy wave that had hit _Enterprise_ had actually been the result of the wormhole closing behind the smaller ship, along the lines of the puff of air produced when hands clap together.

"Wait," Simon said, interrupting T'Pol, "if the wormhole is closed—how will we get back?"

"According to our scans, the entrance and exit of the wormhole appear static," T'Pol replied, "however, the wormhole is highly responsive to energy fluctuations within its vicinity. The combination of the kinetic energy produced by the detonation of the Reaver's torpedoes, along with the ambient energy produced by _Serenity_ itself, was enough to cause the wormhole to open. If we recreate the same circumstances at the coordinates where your ship appeared, we should be able to return you to your own universe."

"Should," Zoë repeated, "that doesn't sound too comfortin.'"

"What about the fact that our ship was near crippled during our original passage?" Reynolds said, "there ain't no _Enterprise_ on our side, we get damaged again."

"Your concerns are logical," T'Pol said. "Lieutenant Reed and I have devised a way that theoretically will prevent any further damage to your ship. However, it must only be a temporary measure, to avoid cultural contamination of your universe by ours."

"What does 'cultural contamination' mean?" Kaylee asked, turning to Travis.

"It means," Jon explained, "that artefacts from our society—our culture—could negatively impact the development of your society. In other words, if you received things from _Enterprise_ that you otherwise would never have come in contact with, it could cause irrevocable changes to your culture that never should have occurred. The Vulcan Science Directorate has a mandate of preventing this from occurring at all cost."

"Excuse me, _Captain,_ " Reynolds said, leaning on the word just enough to make it sound like an insult, "but shouldn't whether or not we get 'contaminated' be up to us to decide, bein' the citizens of this other universe and all?"

"No," Jon answered succinctly. "We have the technology, you don't; it's our responsibility."

"The hell it is—" Reynolds started forward. To his right, Malcolm tensed. Trip put his hand on Reynolds' arm.

"What if the Alliance got a hold of it, Mal?" Trip asked him gently, "I don't think you'd want that."

Reynolds shook Trip's hand off, but he leaned back against the wall. "I still don't like it," he muttered.

"Well," Jon said, "since _that's_ settled, I'd like to ask to lieutenant Reed to come up here and explain the technology that's going to get you home safe and sound."

Malcolm stepped to the spot that T'Pol had just vacated. He tapped the consol against the wall, and a schematic of the ship appeared. "Here, on _Enterprise,_ Malcolm said, indicating the graphic, "we protect our outer hull through polarization. This refers to the mechanism whereby we charge the ions of our hull plating in order to allow them to absorb, deflect and redirect energy, thereby rendering most kinetic attacks ineffective. Any questions so far?"

Jon looked over the crowd again as Malcolm paused in his explanation. His gaze immediately came to rest on Inara's face. He tried to catch her gaze, but her attention was focused on Malcolm. Jon let out a small sigh. Maybe he could talk to her later, find out what was making her look so scared.

No one spoke. "All right, then." Malcolm continued, "through computer simulations of the energy wave produced by the wormhole, Sub-Commander T'Pol and I have determined that polarizing _Serenity's_ hull would be sufficient to prevent further damage. With only minor modifications to your engine and bridge controls, it will be possible to duplicate _Enterprise's_ hull plating on _Serenity_ in only a matter of hours."

"An' this is the tech we don't get to keep, right?" Jayne said, "shit."

"That is correct, Mr. Cobb," T'Pol said, "clearly this technology could severely alter the current circumstances in your universe. To prevent that from happening, we will design the polarization to self-destruct after a single use, so that we can protect your ship and your universe at the same time."

"Well, that's a good thing, ain't it?" Kaylee said, looking at Reynolds for confirmation, "us gettin' home all in one piece?"

"Shiny," Reynolds said, but he didn't look happy.

"With your permission," Malcolm said, addressing Reynolds, "I'd like to get a crew started on this project right away."

Reynolds nodded. "Go ahead, Lieutenant," he said. He turned to Jon. "Anythin' else?"

"No," Jon grit his teeth, forced a smile, "if no one has any further questions, you're all free to return to duty." There were none. "Dismissed." He watched as his crew and those of _Serenity_ began to file out. He stopped Inara before she could leave, took her hand.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked. They were the only two people left in the room.

"Much better, thank you." She smiled, "nothing like a good night's rest."

"I'm glad to hear it." He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "I couldn't help noticing your face during the briefing," he said, "you seemed upset. Is something wrong?"

She lowered her head slightly so Jon could no longer see her eyes. "I'm a little nervous about the idea of going back through the wormhole," she said, "our first trip was so unpleasant." She smiled, raising her eyes to his. "Just being foolish."

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, "you're not being foolish," Jon said, "your ship did take heavy damage. People were wounded, after all. That's why we're giving you the hull polarization, to protect you on the way back."

"I hope it works," she bit her lip.

"It will work," Jon smiled, "Malcolm is the best."

"You've been so kind," she said, voice soft.

"It's my pleasure," Jon replied, "…do you feel up for dinner with the Captain tonight?"

"Which one?" she teased.

"Well," Jon said, taking her arm, "that depends, which one do you prefer?" His smile faltered as he realized just what he had said, how much he wanted to know the answer.

"A lady always prefers a gentleman," she said, "I would love to join you for dinner tonight."

Jon let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I'll ask Chef to prepare something special," he said, "see you at seven?"

"I'm looking forward to it, Jonathan," she said, "see you then." She left. Jon watching her graceful movements as she walked.

As soon as Inara was out of the room, Trip stuck his head back through the door. "Hey, Cap'n," he said, "Alright if I invite Mal to dinner tonight?"

"Mal?" Jon said, "You mean Reed?"

"No," Trip grinned, coming into the room, "Reynolds. You know, the _Serenity's_ Cap'n?"

"Trip, you can't be serious!" Jon groaned, "Can I say 'no'?"

"Not unless you wanna break the heart of your best friend," Trip said, grinning even wider.

"You know I don't see eye-to-eye with him, Trip," Jon said, "it might not be pleasant."

"I know," Trip nodded, "I'll keep him on his best behaviour, promise."

"You owe me one," Jon sighed, "hell. You owe me two."

"Thanks Cap'n!"

Jon smiled at his friend's jubilation. "Wait, Trip," he said as the Commander turned to leave, "is this thing between you and Mr. Reynolds something I need to warn you about?"

"I'll be careful Cap'n," Trip answered, "always am."

"Not careful enough," Jon smiled, "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Thanks, dad," Trip winked, "can I borrow the keys to the shuttle pod?"

Jon laughed, "Get out of here."

Trip gave him a mock salute and left.

Jon's smile faded as the doors closed behind Trip. He suddenly remembered a young woman putting her hand on his chest, apologizing for the broken hearts.

* * *

Zoë was sitting in the _Enterprise's_ Sick bay, looking at her husband. It was well into evening and the bay was nearly empty, save for Phlox, who was at the back, feeding his animals. Simon had left a while back, taking his sister with him. The lights had been lowered, casting soothing shadows over the stark equipment. She felt like she and Wash were the only two people left in the universe.

She heard the door swish open, and then felt the comforting pressure of a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. "Hello, Cap," she gave him a faint smile.

"How's he doin'?" Mal asked.

"Phlox tells me he's doin' better, but it's hard to be sure, what with that creature on him and all," she said. It was still difficult to look at her husband's face. The burned half was covered by some sort of translucent jellyfish-like creature: its body stretched from Wash's forehead to his waist, with a flattened tentacle covering part of his hand and forearm. Tiny, hair-thin tendrils snaked from the sides of the animal, curling over Wash's still-healthy skin, circling his right ear, even threading into his hair. The animal was stretched out so tightly that it looked like a layer of ice; distorting Wash's features and emphasising the painful red. The creature was shimmering blue, the colour rolling through it in waves.

"Hypnotic," Mal said after a moment. He paused, "he in any pain?"

"Not so much," Zoë said, "doc says the creature produces nature painkillers." She pointed at the tendrils on Wash's unburned skin, "Injects them through those. Doc says it also can tell what he's feelin', so it knows if he needs more."

Mal grunted. "Weird."

"Yep." Zoë said, "Can't wait 'til it's off him."

"How you doin'?" Mal asked, gently squeezing her shoulder, "you holdin' up okay?"

"I'm alright," she replied, putting her hand over his.

"You sleepin' enough?"

Zoë smiled up at him, "Yes. Dr. Phlox doesn't seem to need a lot of sleep. He's here at night to watch him."

"Gettin' enough to eat?" Mal asked.

Zoë laughed, "Yessir, I promise I'm eatin' and sleepin' okay."

Mal smiled back at her, "Good to hear." His face got serious. "You want me to sit with him awhile, maybe?"

Zoë raised her eyebrows, taking in his jacket and polished boots, "Don't you have some fancy dinner tonight?"

Mal looked embarrassed. "T'ain't so important."

Zoë raised an eyebrow, crossed her arms. "I ain't givin' you an excuse to stand him up."

Mal fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket. "I don't much like his captain." he said, grimacing, "I don't think I can stay polite in that man's presence."

"I don't think you can stay polite in anyone's presence!" Zoë laughed again. She reached up and patted him on his back. "But I'm thinkin' a certain engineer would be mighty disappointed if you didn't show up tonight."

Mal grinned, "Kaylee'd be okay."

Zoë shot him a look, "Don't even try."

Mal sighed, glanced at Wash. "You sure you don't want me to stay…?"

Zoë gave him a shove. "Get goin,'" she said, "you got someone waitin' for you."

Mal shook his head resignedly. "You are a very cruel woman."

"Yeah, I'm a bitch," Zoë smiled, then looked pointedly at the door. "You're goin' to be late, Cap."

"Alright, alright, I'm goin'," Mal raised his hands in surrender. "I'll be in the Captain's mess if you need me."

"I won't," she waved, "good night!"

"Wish me luck," Mal called. The doors slid shut behind him.

Zoë's smile faltered as soon as Mal had gone. She turned back to Wash, gently stroking his hair back. "Oh, baby," she exhaled. Her fingers touched one of the viscous tendrils and she yanked her hand back. She grit her teeth until her jaw hurt, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

A shudder, like ripples, passed through the creature and the shimmering blue changed to a dull yellow. The jellyfish's tendril slid free of Wash's hair, bending up to reach for her hand.

Zoë bit back a cry, all but leaping out of her chair. The tendril still groped for her, waving gently like a vine in a soft wind. The yellow colour of the creature deepened, giving a sickly cast to Wash's skin. "Phlox!" Zoë turned her head and called towards the back room.

The doctor bustled in immediately, his genial face only marginally altered by concern. "Yes?" He asked, immediately turning his attention to the bioscreen above Wash's bed, "is there something wrong?"

"That, _thing,_ " Zoë pointed; the tendril had drooped somewhat, as if in disappointment. When her hand came closer it stretched out again, reaching for her. Zoë snatched her hand back. "It ain't actin' right—the colour's off now. And it's…what's it doin'?"

Before Phlox could reply, Wash moaned, moved his head; lifted his good arm to rub at the burned side of his face. The alarms on the bioscreen went off.

Zoë automatically grabbed her husband's wrist, turning sharply to the doctor. "What's goin' on?" she demanded. Wash fought against her, pulling weakly. It was obvious he was in pain.

Phlox was looking between her, the creature and the bioscreen, blue eyes bright with worry. "This is most unusual," he said, speaking to himself, "but it seems Crys has bonded to both of you—"

Wash's good eye opened, darting feverishly. "Get away!" he cried, voice faint. He kept pulling against Zoë's hand. "It hurts," he said, "Zoë? Where's Zoë?"

Zoë's heart clenched up like a fist. She kneeled by Wash's head, began stroking the unburned side of his face with one hand. Her other hand was still holding his wrist; he was still fighting her. "Shhh," she soothed, "I'm right here, baby. It's okay. You're okay."

"Hurts!" Wash moaned, "oh, God! Zoë!"

"I'm here!" Her heart was breaking.

The creature was now a dull grey, pulsing restlessly. A thick tendril detached itself from Wash's arm and arced across his body to completely cover Zoë's hand. Zoë flinched, forced herself not to pull back. That portion of the creature turned bright blue.

Phlox' eyes widened. " _Most_ unusual," he said. Gently, he reached down and peeled the creature away from her, attempted to place it back on Wash's arm. The animal struggled against him, shimmering from yellow to white to grey. It shifted again on Wash's body, showing skin that was red and swollen.

Wash shuddered, screamed.

Zoë gasped in horror, eyes on her stricken husband as the jellyfish surged towards her.

Phlox grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her away from the bed. Zoë was too surprised to react, stumbling backwards as the doctor yanked her to her feet, forced her to move with him.

In seconds, the creature's frenzied rippling slowed to a gentle undulation, its colour brightening once again to blue. It slid back over Wash's burns, and his thrashing eased as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

The doctor let go of her instantly. "Oh dear," he said.

Zoë whirled on him. "What the hell just happened?"

"I've heard of this," the doctor mused, "but I've never seen it happening. No wonder they don't recommend the presence of family…"

"Doc," Zoë said harshly, "tell me what that gorram thing just did."

"It's bonded to you," Phlox said, "as well as your husband. Crys is empathic, hm? It obviously absorbed his feelings for you." He looked at her, considering. "Did you touch it? I mean, prior to its movement over your hand."

Zoë remembered how the jellyfish's tendril on Wash's forehead had felt, before she'd pulled her hand back. "Yes," she said.

"Hmmm," Phlox nodded thoughtfully. "That contact must have allowed Crys to read your emotions as well." The doctor said, "no doubt it sensed your concern for your husband. It was likely trying to heal you, too."

Zoë's eyes widened, she looked back at Wash. He was quiet now, breathing regular and calm. She turned to Phlox. "I'm not hurt."

"Oh, not physically," Phlox said, "but obviously you are in some emotional distress." His sharp blue eyes were grave. "I'm afraid Crys overextended itself, trying to help you both at once. That's why Wash was experiencing pain."

Zoë rubbed her arms with her hands. She was trembling. "Is it alright?"

"Now?" Phlox asked, "Oh, yes." He gestured towards Wash. "You can see: Crys is under some stress at the moment, but is having no difficulty with your husband's wounds."

"So it's just me," Zoë said flatly, "I can't be near him."

"No, I'm afraid not, for the time being," Phlox said gently.

Zoë nodded once. "Thank you, doctor," she said, voice tight, "I appreciate you lookin' after him."

And she turned and left before Phlox could answer her.

* * *

Malcolm spun and kicked the Heavy bag near the top: once, twice, three times in quick succession. He crouched; hit it with his wrapped hands: knuckles, then side; then kicked again. Sweat trickled from his forehead into his eye. He tossed his head to clear it.

He heard the door to the gym open behind him, ignored it; hit the bag again. He pivoted, kicked out; broke an imaginary Klingon's jaw; took off an Andorian's antenna. He grinned, feeling his sweat seeping through his t-shirt; his heartbeat steady in his ears; his muscles vibrating from the impact against the bag. He could do this for hours.

"Not bad for such a skinny fuck."

Malcolm stopped in surprise, automatically halted the bag's swing with his hands as it came back at him. He was looking at the dark-skinned woman from _Serenity._ She was standing with her arms crossed and a nasty expression on her face, wearing what apparently passed for workout gear on her ship: loose-fitting pants and a black t-shirt. Her feet, like his, were bare.

"Zoë," he said evenly, wiping his brow with his forearm, "can I do something for you?"

She nodded at the Heavy bag, a quick jerk of her head. "Let's see what you can do against somethin' that fights back."

Malcolm quirked up an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"It's whatever you want," Zoë answered. She stepped forward, looking at him coldly. "So, we gonna go?"

"Is your entire crew so bloody belligerent?" He asked her. He let his hands fall loosely to his sides, flexed his fingers.

"I'm the sweet one," she said. She dropped her arms as well, shaking out her wrists. "Yes or no, Limey?"

Malcolm's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

"Yep."

He gestured towards the middle of the mat. "Ladies first."

She gave him a feral smile, moved to one side and took on a defensive stance, shifting her weight from leg to leg. Malcolm knew instantly that she had been well trained. This wouldn't be an easy fight for either of them. He smiled back.

They started circling each other, like cats; trying to sense a weakness, a way in. She broke first and rushed towards him. He thought to leap aside, when she suddenly dropped down and attempted to sweep his feet out from under him with her leg. He jumped straight up instead, kicking at her chest. She saw it coming and had just enough time to deflect the blow so his foot just glanced off her shoulder. It threw him off balance and he landed hard on both feet. She was up immediately, throwing a vicious punch to his face with all her weight behind it. He bobbed aside, striking out with his forearm in a block, trapping her wrist with his hand. Using her momentum, he turned, grabbed her elbow with his other hand, and still turning; threw her to the mat. She hit hard and rolled, came up growling as she kicked at him.

He almost wasn't fast enough, and the ball of her foot skimmed across his shin, starting a vibrato of pain. He winced, danced back away from her, waited as she came in again.

"Not bad," he said. He grinned.

"Shut up." She lunged, feinted at the last second and hit him hard in the sternum with the heel of her palm. He let out a whoosh of breath, but managed to catch her arm before he fell, and used gravity to help pull her down with him. He landed on his back, planted his foot solidly on her chest and heaved. She hit the floor with a smack and a grunt of pain. It took her a bit longer for her to get up this time. He stood back, waiting.

"Are you all right?" He asked, concerned, "we can stop if you like."

She was only half-way to her feet, bent over as if in severe pain. Malcolm moved towards her, arm extended to offer help. Suddenly she slammed into his abdomen, leading with her shoulder. The air left his lungs in a painful rush, and for a moment his vision went grey at the edges. There had been no finesse to this attack, and Malcolm knew the impact had hurt her almost as badly as it had hurt him. He fell heavily to the mat, still stunned. She fell with him, landed on her side, scrambled up while he was still trying to breathe. She put one hand on his throat to steady herself while she straddled him, kneeling on his arms.

She reared back and hit him across the face. Her fist contacted neatly with the orbit of his right eye and his head snapped to the side. She pulled her other fist back, and Malcolm moved. Pulling his legs up, he crossed his ankles around her neck and heaved backwards, throwing her away from him. He used the momentum to carry him to his feet, and before she could even blink, had his foot on her throat.

"That was a bit of dirty play," he snarled, "you didn't tell me this was a free-for-all,"

"Get the fuck off me," Zoë ground out. He moved his foot and stepped back from her. He gingerly touched just underneath his right eye, grimaced. His fingertips came back with blood on them.

"Bollocks," he swore. He could feel the skin pulling taught with swelling already. He narrowed his eyes at her, feeling a twinge of pain. "Is this how you lot always spar, as if it's a fight to the bloody death?"

She sat up, rubbed her throat and then rested her arms on her drawn-up knees. "You're good," she said.

"I know," Malcolm replied. He looked at her. "That was a brutal attack," he said. "What would you have done if I weren't so good, and didn't throw you off?"

"Hit you again," she said, "hit you until you went out."

He looked at her, incredulous. "You could have killed me."

"I know it."

He touched his eye again. "I'm seriously considering having you shut up in an airlock until your ship leaves, for the safety of my crew," he said.

"Fine by me," Her voice was flat. She stood, "let's go, then."

Malcolm looked at her. "You want to be locked up?"

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter what I want. Let's go."

"Wait," he said, "you leave your husband in Sick bay, come down here, attack me, and then quietly submit to punishment?" He shook his head, "what in God's name is wrong with you?"

"None of your gorram business," she spat. "You always take this long to do your job?"

"I'm not going to help you play out this little psychodrama," Malcolm retorted, "even if you did almost blind me. Now, either you tell me what this is about, or I interrupt _both_ our captains at dinner to tell them there's been an incident in the gym." He looked hard at her, "your choice."

"Screw you," she said.

"Very well, then." Malcolm turned and walked to the comm. panel by the door.

"Wait," Zoë called, "don't."

Malcolm turned around but didn't move away from the comm. He crossed his arms again. "Well?"

Zoë was standing, head down. Her hair had come lose from its fastening and was hanging forward over her shoulders; she was rubbing her upper arm with one hand.

"I just had a bad day, is all," she said. "Had some energy to burn up."

"That explains nothing," he said and turned back to the wall unit.

"Wash got worse tonight, that good enough for you?" she shouted at him.

Malcolm turned back to her, "You could have told me, you know," he said gently, "If you wanted to go at it hammer-and-tongs."

"What do you care?" she said. She sounded spent, defeated.

"Captain Archer and Commander Tucker were lost in a desert once," Malcolm said, "it took us nearly an entire day to find them," he paused, remembering. "That was one of the longest days of my life: two men I care for deeply, lost God knows where, in heat that can kill in hours. And there was nothing I could do to help them." He gave her a small smile. "I remember how badly I wanted to hit something."

"I hate feelin' like this," Zoë said, "I hate not bein' able to do anythin'."

"'They also serve, who sit and wait.'" Malcolm quoted, "sometimes that's all we can do."

"I've never heard that before," Zoë said.

"A very old quote from a very old war," Malcolm replied, "I try to remember it, now and then."

"I'm not much good at waitin'," she said.

"Neither am I," Malcolm smiled. Then he stepped towards her, his face grave. "He'll be all right," Malcolm said, "I promise."

"I really want to believe it," her voice was thick.

He let her regain control. "Come on," he said after a moment, gesturing with his hand, "I want you to show me that move with your foot."

"I could do that." She said. She let him lead her to the centre of the mat again.

* * *

The dinner had not gone well.

T'Pol knew that might be considered an arbitrary distinction, an emotional qualifier of the evening. It was, rather, a logical assumption based on her knowledge of human behaviour; as well as her understanding of their repertoire of verbal prosody and body-language.

Captain Reynolds was distinctly uncomfortable: he had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout most of the evening, responding to direct questions rather than actively engaging in conversation. This had appeared to have a detrimental affect on Commander Tucker, who was also unusually uncommunicative. He was spending an inordinate amount of time studying his beer glass.

The captain, while attempting to converse with the entire table, was clearly truly interested only in speaking to the woman to his immediate left. Though he made constant attempts at typical human levity and topics that were generally considered 'small talk,' his smiles were only genuine when he responded to Inara. She had also noted his physiological responses to their female guest: slightly dilated pupils, increased breathing rate that would be commensurate with an elevated heartbeat; an incremental flush to his skin. Inara seemed to be responding in kind: she had touched the captain approximately fourteen times during the course of the evening—at least eight times more than was strictly necessary.

T'Pol had also been paying attention to the amount of subtle interactions between Captain Reynolds and the commander. While neither seemed particularly interested in the general conversation, each would immediately become attentive when the other spoke, and their eye-contact had been prolonged and intense.

However, the conversation had died out completely some moments ago. While Vulcans as a rule did not mind lengthy periods of silence, T'Pol could see that each passing second was causing the humans further strain.

"I am curious, Captain Reynolds," T'Pol said, "to know more about this Alliance you have spoken of. How is this organization structured?"

Captain Reynolds turned to look at her, his eyes dark. "Well," he drawled, "the rich, core worlds, with all the power, dictate how everyone on the poor, fringe worlds should live their lives."

"I think what T'Pol meant," Captain Archer said, with a smile that indicated more displeasure than humour, "was what _kind_ of governmental system it is. Does it have elected representatives, for example, or is it a kingdom?" The Captain's tone was strangely gentle, as if explaining something to a child.

"The Alliance is a rather…difficult subject for Malcolm, Captain," Inara said, "not everyone agreed with the expansion of the Alliance."

The _Serenity_ captain gave his crewmate a cryptic glance, then spoke to Captain Archer. "I'd call it a dictatorship, actually," he nodded at Inara, "though the resident Companion here might not agree."

Inara looked directly Captain Reynolds. "I need the Core Worlds for my certification and my clientele Malcolm, nothing more." She raised her wineglass delicately and took a sip.

"You voted for the Alliance, as I recall," Captain Reynolds said.

"—And the independents lost the war, as I recall," she replied, "hundreds of thousands of useless deaths that could have been prevented if the vote had been allowed to stand."

T'Pol was interested to see that Captain Reynolds' expression grew even darker, "You just insulted a lot of fine men and women, Inara," he said softly, "Men and women who were proud to fight against the Alliance; proud to die for what they believed in."

Inara narrowed her eyes, "I'm sure that very same rhetoric has been repeated at the end of every unsuccessful campaign since war began. It has never served to replace the loss of even one single life."

"Tell me then, what is worth fightin' for, Inara?" The captain said, leaning back in his chair, "the right to open your legs for every pretty face and flash of coin?"

Captain Archer stood up. "That's enough."

Captain Reynolds and Commander Tucker stood up as well; the Commander put a restraining hand on Captain Reynolds' shoulder.

"Mal," Commander Tucker said, his voice seemed to carry a note of despair.

Captain Reynolds ignored him. "What's the matter, _Jonathan,_ " he said, "hasn't Inara told you what a 'Companion' is yet?"

T'Pol was fairly certain that the word for Inara's expression would be 'stricken.' Commander Tucker had a similar look on his face. She had rarely seen Captain Archer look quite so angry, and she wondered if Captain Reynolds would be in physical danger.

"I think you should leave," Captain Archer said to the other captain, "now." His voice was deceptively calm.

"You got that right," Captain Reynolds said. He shoved back his chair violently and it crashed to the deck. He turned and strode out.

Commander Tucker and Captain Archer exchanged a look, the emotional content of which was beyond T'Pol's ability to determine.

"Go ahead," the captain said, as if in response to a spoken question. Commander Tucker nodded to T'Pol and Inara and also left.

Captain Archer sat down. "Well," he said, "that was…interesting."

Inara's smile was slight. "I feel I should apologize, Jonathan," she said. "I know how deeply Malcolm feels about the war between the Independents and the Alliance, and how much our views differ on the subject." She looked at the table, "I shouldn't have provoked him."

Captain Archer leaned forward, "The only one who should be doing any apologizing Inara, is Reynolds for what he said to you. That was inexcusable."

Her expression was enigmatic. "He's not wrong about what I do."

"The Vulcan credo is 'Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations," T'Pol said, "I believe that includes chosen professions." She looked squarely at Inara. "The mandate of the _Enterprise_ is to explore, not to pass judgement."

Inara inclined her head gracefully. "Thank you, Sub-Commander," she said.

T'Pol rose smoothly from her chair. "If you will excuse me, Captain, Inara," she said, "I must return to my duties."

The captain stood, "Good night, T'Pol," he said.

"Good night," T'Pol nodded at both of them. "I have…enjoyed meeting you." She said to Inara. She formed the fingers of her right hand into the sacred Vulcan symbol. "Live long and prosper," she said, and left.

She was not relieved, because Vulcans did not feel relief, but she had to admit that she found it most agreeable when the doors to the captain's mess had shut behind her.

* * *

Jon watched the doors shut behind T'Pol. He turned back to Inara, "I've been wanting to be alone with you all day." He smiled and took her hand.

When Inara looked up at him her dark eyes held surprise. "Most men would be…disturbed, to discover I'm a Companion," she said.

"I'm not most men," Jon said.

Inara smiled. "Most men feel the need for," she seemed to be hunting for the word, "exclusivity."

Jon caressed her hand with his thumb, "I'm not naïve, Inara," he said, "I know you're not from our universe; I know our time together may be limited. Under these circumstances the only thing that matters is what we have together, right now."

"Being with you, right now has nothing to do with my profession, Jonathan," she said, "I want you to be sure of that."

He smiled, "I am."

Her smile became alluring. She lifted her hand and weaved it through his hair. She leaned in, pulling his head down to her. Their lips were nearly touching. "May I kiss you?" She whispered. Her breath was like a feather's touch over his lips.

He kissed her in answer. Tenderly, then passionately. When they finally pulled away, her eyes were dark and fathomless.

She reached up and brushed her fingers against his lips as she smiled. "Is there a more comfortable place we could be?"

He stood, offered her his hand. "Come with me."

* * *

Trip found Mal in the main observation lounge, looking out at the stars. His legs were apart, his back straight, his arms crossed in front of him. His profile showed narrowed eyes, thinned lips; a dark and angry expression. He couldn't look more unapproachable if he tried.

Trip would have turned and left right then, except that Mal moved suddenly, his shoulders relaxing and his face taking on a look of such pain that Trip went to him.

He stopped just behind the other man, where he knew Mal would be able to see him but he wouldn't be too far into his space. He didn't touch him, standing instead with his hands clasped behind his back. The stance reminded him of Malcolm, all stiff and formal. He shifted, loosely crossing his arms, not saying anything.

"It's hard to believe our universes could be so different," Mal said, "when the stars look exactly the same."

"You'll be home tomorrow," Trip said, "once we've finished installin' the polarization mechanism."

"Uh-huh."

Trip glanced at him. "You don't sound too happy."

"Not exactly the jump-for-joy type."

Trip shook his head. "I don't get you, Mal—if I had the chance to go home tomorrow, I can't tell you how happy that'd make me."

Mal finally looked at him. "It's more complicated than that."

"I wouldn't know," Trip said, "'seems pretty simple to me."

Mal looked back out the window. "My whole life, I've been told there's nothing more precious than freedom: not wealth, not love; nothing else is more important than the ability to make your own way. That's what I fought for, that's what I believe in." He paused, eyes as distant as the stars, "Inara's right. So many people died, and in the end, none of it means anythin'."

"The people who fought with you might not agree," Trip said.

"They're dead."

"Does that make what they believed any less important?" Trip asked.

Mal turned his head to look at him, smiling bitterly. "The winners get to decide what's important."

"That doesn't make them right."

Mal turned back to the window, straightened his shoulders. "Why are you here, Trip? What did you follow me for?"

"Dinner didn't go as well as I'd hoped," Trip said.

Mal smirked humourlessly. "I was a son of a bitch."

Trip chuckled. "That's a fact." He hesitated, then put his hand on Mal's shoulder, on the other side of his neck. He was quietly elated when Mal didn't shrug it off. "Thought you might want to talk."

"You remind me of Kaylee," Mal said, "she doesn't know when to quit, either." But his voice was sad instead of angry.

"Kaylee is real sweet," Trip said.

Mal turned enough so he was looking Trip in the eye. "That she is," he said, "So are you. But you're makin' a mistake."

Trip just smiled at him. "Some mistakes are worth makin'." He slid his hand along Mal's shoulder until it was resting on the back of the captain's neck, gently kneaded the taut muscles.

Mal was still looking at him, his eyes dark as oceans. "This is none too bright of you," he said, "you know this ain't gonna end right."

"I don't know that," Trip told him, "and I don't think you do, either." He tightened his grip on the back of Mal's neck, just slightly, then leaned in and kissed him.

Mal froze, and for a second Trip thought that would be it: over before it had even begun. But then Mal was kissing him back; ferociously, almost desperately. He snaked his hands up to the back of Trip's head, threading his fingers through his hair. Trip had his other hand on Mal's back, over his spine, and he could feel the muscles bunching as the man moved. Mal's mouth was hot, and he tasted like a summer storm.

Trip pulled back first. He rested his forehead against Mal's. "That didn't feel like a mistake," he said, panting.

"Then you're too damn stupid to know the difference," Mal replied; but he was the one who started the kissing again.

* * *

The last thing Wash remembered was River tugging on his sleeve. Now he didn't know where he was.

The subtle weight that had been sitting on his chest; caressing his face; touching his skin with gentle pressure was gone. He didn't know how he knew that, but he could tell it was missing. His skin felt raw and cold where it had been. There was a whisper of pain there, too, that hadn't been there before. Gradually, but steadily increasing. That worried him a little. He didn't want to be in pain again. He wasn't too keen on pain.

He knew he could open his eyes and actually see, if he wanted. He wasn't sure he wanted to, though, since he didn't know where he was, and there was always the possibility that the place wouldn't be very nice. The possibility that someone unfriendly, maybe even downright hostile, could be looking at him now, just waiting for his eyelids to flicker, just waiting -

Reavers. They had been trying to outrun Reavers.

His eyes flew open. He was staring into a pair of the most unreal blue eyes he had ever seen. Freaky blue, framed by ridges that didn't belong anywhere on a human. And then that face smiled. Wash lashed out, smacking the Reaver squarely in his hideously-scarred face. He had to get out of there.

He rocketed off the bed, knocking over a tray of vicious-looking instruments with his left side. They hit the ground with a spray of silver.

His side exploded with a stretchy agony as if something had happened to his skin. He screamed, the pain ricocheting along his nerves. His legs gave way like rags and he crashed to the floor, left-side first, and the pain was enough to make him gag.

No time for that. He had to get out, find his crew. Wash was crawling, trying to regain his feet. There was no strength left in his body; he was dizzy, kitten-weak and helpless. What had they done to him?

"Wash!" Someone grabbed him, and he fought. "Wash, stop now!"

"Zoë?" he said. And it was. She was kneeling by him, her hands gentle, supporting him where his skin didn't hurt. Oh God, they had Zoë too. "Y'gotta get out of here," he said, "the Reavers…" He pushed at her hands, "they've done something to me, I can't walk. Leave!" He looked at her, imploring. "Go!"

"You're alright, Wash," she said, "it's alright. There are no Reavers here."

Wash looked wildly behind him, trying to see where the freaky-faced guy had gone, "I saw one, his face is all scarred." He turned back to his wife, gripping her arm as hard as he could with his good hand, "you've got to get out of here, before he comes back!"

Wash saw Zoë's eyes drift from his face to just above his head. Something cool and sharp was pressed against his neck, and he heard a small hiss before he could even flinch away. Immediately, his pain retreated, shut off like someone had hit a switch. He felt…good, calm, a kind of strange sinking.

"Up we go," a cheery voice said, and he was being lifted, half-carried back to the bed. He was eased back down, and he gave a small sigh. He knew he'd just been drugged, but was too drugged to care.

"Zoë?" he said, finding her face. She was kneeling beside his bed, her fingers gently stroking through his hair. "That feels nice," he said, frowned. It wasn't what he had wanted to say, "Zoë," he tried again, "why did the Reaver just drug me?"

Zoë laughed, but her dark eyes were shiny-wet. "He's not a Reaver, Wash," she said, "he's a doctor. He's been helpin' you. You were badly burned."

"Burned?" It was a strangely difficult concept. "How'd I get burned?"

"Your consol blew up."

That was terrible. No consol, no ability to steer; _Serenity_ would be adrift. "I gotta get to the bridge," he said. He tried to sit up.

Zoë pressed gently against his chest, forcing him to stay prone. "The ship is fine, we're all fine. All you need to worry about is gettin' better."

"Get better?" he asked, he thought they were just talking about the consol. "What happened?"

She smiled, brushed her hand over his cheek. "You were burned, sweetheart," she said, "remember?"

"No," he said, "I remember River tugging at my arm." He blinked, trying to work out the thought. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Zoë said, "everyone's fine."

"Why does the doctor's face look like that?" Wash asked her, "did Reavers get him?"

"No, honey," Zoë said. "His name is Doctor Phlox. That's just the way he is."

"Oh," Wash said, "okay."

"Doctor," Zoë said, looking up over Wash's head, "is he gonna be okay to fly in twelve hours?"

"Sure," Wash said, "but the consol blew up."

"Technically, he could fly your ship now," the doctor said. Wash turned his head towards the voice. On closer inspection, the doctor really didn't look much like a Reaver, though his eyes and face still looked wrong. He was too clean. Plus Zoë wasn't afraid, so maybe there really was nothing to worry about. "His reason and coordination were unimpaired when he awoke," the doctor continued, "though he will be physically weak for some time. Even his pain would have remained within tolerable limits if he had not fallen off the bed." The doctor looked a little chagrined. "I regret not predicting the negative impact my appearance might have had on him."

"I hope he didn't hit you too hard," Zoë said.

The doctor smiled widely. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before, hm?"

"So, when will the meds you just gave him wear off?" Zoë asked.

"Oh," the doctor thought a moment, "in approximately half an hour. Just enough time to get his pain under control. I would like to keep him in Sick bay as long as possible, however," he added, "perhaps in an hour or so Crys will have rested enough to continue treatment."

Zoë said something else then, but Wash had stopped paying attention to her words. The cadence of her voice was soothing and he was feeling sleepy. He let his eyes close, falling asleep to the rhythm of Zoë's fingers brushing through his hair.

* * *

"Well, guess that's it then," Jayne said.

Simon opened one eye. Jayne wasn't in the bed. He was standing on the other side of his room, finishing tucking a t-shirt into his pants. "It's awfully rude of you to be kicking me out so early in the morning, don't you think?"

Jayne barely glanced at him as he adjusted his belt. "Ain't kickin' you out."

"Oh," Simon said. He let his head fall back, closed his eyes. "So you just woke me up for my company."

"Thought you'd be leavin', is all."

Simon opened his eyes. Jayne was viciously yanking on his boots. "So you _are_ kicking me out."

Jayne looked at him, expression unreadable. "Don't you got packin' t'do?"

Simon raised himself up on his elbows, the blanket slipping down to expose his bare chest. "Packing? Are you asking me to move in with you?" He looked around the small space. "My quarters really are bigger…" He smiled.

Jayne scowled at him. "You know what I mean."

Simon just looked at him, smile fading. "No, Jayne, I don't."

Jayne started buckling on his holster. It seemed like he was doing whatever he could to keep from looking Simon in the eyes. "How else're you gonna get your stuff onto _Enterprise_?"

Simon paled, feeling his heart speed up. "What," he said slowly, trying to keep his voice calm, "what did Mal tell you?"

Jayne whirled on him, eyes like blue flames, "I _knew_ it!" He shouted, "I _KNEW_ you woulda' told him first!" He turned away suddenly, "gorram son of a bitch." His shoulders had gone so tight they were nearly shaking.

Simon sat up. He gathered more of the blankets around his legs, wishing his clothes weren't on the other side of the room. "Jayne?"

"Shut up!" Jayne thrust one hand out, his back still rigid. "Don't make me kill you faster than I want."

Simon stood, letting the blanket fall. "Jayne!" Jayne finally turned around. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

Jayne took three steps forward, stopping inches away from Simon. He jabbed two fingers into the doctor's sternum. It hurt, but Simon didn't flinch. "I'm talkin' about how you an' River're gonna stay on _Enterprise_ , and you didn't even have the guts to tell me."

"Who told you that?" Simon said. "Was it Mal? Did Mal tell you we were leaving?"

Jayne was practically snarling. "Din't have to. I figured it out on my own." He punctuated each word with another jab.

Simon snatched up Jayne's hand. "Stop that!"

Jayne's teeth bared like a wolf. His free hand whipped back, fisted tight. There was an ugly moment, neither man moving. Then suddenly Jayne turned, dropped his arms, and crossed the room. He scooped up Simon's clothes and threw them at him. They hit Simon in the chest and neck, slid down to the floor. "Get the hell out," Jayne said, "before I do kill you." His voice was deadly.

Simon left the clothes where they'd fallen. "I'm not leaving."

"You gorram well better."

"No, Jayne," Simon said, "you don't understand—I'm _not_ leaving. I don't care what Mal told you. I won't let him leave me and River on _Enterprise_."

Jayne's expression changed from fury to confusion. "You ain't leavin'?"

Simon just looked at him. "That's what I said." He shook his head, "I can't believe you'd help Mal kick me off." He bent down, began picking up his clothes. "I thought I meant more to you than that."

Jayne started laughing.

Simon's gaze shot up to him, pants griped in one hand. "What's so niou-se funny?"

Jayne laughed harder, wiped his eyes. "Shit," he choked, "shit, that's too good."

Simon crossed his arms, pants still dangling. He began to smile in spite of himself. "Jayne," he said, "tell me what's so damn funny."

"I thought you told Mal you were leavin'," Jayne gasped, "and you thought Mal told me you were leavin'." He laughed a bit more. "How funny is that?"

"It's not funny, Jayne," Simon said, "how could you think I'd leave _Serenity?_ "

"Just seemed natural," Jayne said. He'd stopped laughing. "I saw you talkin' with the doc, all that shiny technology, they could maybe fix River, even. No Alliance on this side, neither. Figure there ain't no reason for you to stay."

"You figured wrong," Simon said. "How could you think that?"

Jayne clearly didn't understand. "Well," he said, "why the ruttin' hell would you stay? Only a damn fool would stay someplace when the gettin' was good someplace else."

"I don't want to be someplace else, Jayne," Simon said. " _Serenity_ is my home. All the people I care about are here." He dropped his clothes, moved forward until he could put his hands on Jayne's shoulders, looked directly into his eyes. "All the people I care about are _here,_ " he said again, "right here. Dong-ma?"

"Oh," Jayne said quietly. He ducked his head, glanced up shyly. "All the folk you care about, huh?"

Simon smiled at him. "Yes."

"Well," Jayne said. He paused, grinning. "ain't that somethin'."

Simon moved his hand to the side of Jayne's face, feeling the soft rasp of his beard. "Yes it is," he said.

Jayne's eyes flicked up and down Simon's body. His grin became leering. "You're nekkid."

Simon grinned back. "I am."

"I'm thinkin' one of us is wearin' too many clothes." He stepped back, yanking off his t-shirt. "After all," Jayne said as he pulled it over his arms, "'still early, right?"

* * *

Kaylee was sitting on Travis' bed, sheet pulled up just under her arms, nestled against his chest. He was holding a PADD so both of them could see it, his arms around her waist. They were laughing.

"And this is your sister's boyfriend?" Kaylee giggled, pointing at a tall man in one of the pictures, "did your dad _really_ tell him he was gonna send him out the airlock?"

"To his face!" Travis laughed, "and he's her husband now, if you can believe it." He pressed a button on the PADD, and a new picture appeared, this one of a beautiful woman in a white dress.

"Ohh," Kaylee sighed, "so pretty."

"That's my sister," Travis said, a note of pride in his voice, "this is on her wedding day." He pressed the button again, and a picture of his father, looking uncomfortable in a suit, came up, "see the expression on my dad's face?" Travis said, "he was trying not to cry!"

"'Cause she was marryin' the guy?" Kaylee asked.

Travis smiled, "Because she was getting married at all. He was sure she was going to join her husband's crew. Leave the _Horizon_ for good."

"He musta been so happy when he found out that they were gonna stay," Kaylee said.

"It was their wedding present to my parents, actually," Travis said, "they waited until the reception to tell them, though—You should have seen my dad's face! I thought he was _really_ going to send my sister's brand-new husband through the airlock this time!"

They laughed together. Kaylee looked up at Travis' face, his smile was a little sad. "You miss 'em a lot, don'tcha?" she asked.

"Yeah," Travis said quietly, "all the time."

"I miss my folks, too." Kaylee said, "but they're real happy for me; I'm earnin' good money and Mal's real sweet." She traced a pattern on Travis' leg, "I guess I'll get back to see 'em one day."

"I was kind of hoping that you'd want to stay here," Travis said.

She looked up at him, "I was kinda hopin' you'd want to come with me," she smiled. "We could always use another good pilot."

Travis hugged her, pulling her back against him. "I'm sure Trip could put your talents to use in the engine room," he said. She could feel his lips against her hair. "We have lots of fruit…"

She sighed, suddenly feeling sad herself. "Let's not talk about me leavin' an' you stayin'." She said, "we got lots of time for that."

Travis gave a low chuckle that Kaylee could feel vibrating against her back. "So," he said, breathing against her ear, "what do you want to do instead?"

"We could get some fruit?" She said hopefully.

He burst out laughing, "Of course," he said, "of course we can."

"Shiny!" She jumped out of bed, leaving the sheets behind her.

"Wait," Travis said. She turned, smiling. "I have something for you." He left the bed and went to his locker, took something out. It was a small book. He handed it to her. "Something to remember me by."

"Oh," she said, "it's beautiful."

He smiled, "you haven't even opened it yet."

"But the cover," she said, "so smooth and pretty." She ran her fingers down it, "see?"

He shook his head as if she had somehow amazed him. "You're wonderful."

She blushed, "Ah, go on." She opened the book, eyes growing wide. She looked up at him, delighted. "Poetry!"

"It's a book of Boomer poets," Travis explained, "all the most famous ones; their best works."

"This is too precious," Kaylee said, clutching the book to her chest, "I can't take this."

"I want you to," Travis replied, "I'd like to be able to think of you reading it."

Kaylee felt tears welling up in her eyes. "That's just the nicest thing." She looked at him suddenly, stricken. "I don't got anythin' for you!"

Travis held her gaze, smiled, "It's right here," he said. He tapped his fingertips to his heart.

* * *

The room was shadowed, the lights of a thousand stars visible through the window.

"You could stay, you know." He said against her hair.

She held tightly to his hand as it curved over her chest, "I can't Jonathan," she said.

"Why?" he asked her, "Is it Reynolds?" There was no jealousy in his voice, no malice.

"He needs me," she said.

Jon gave a small laugh. She could feel the puff of air against her neck. "I could need you,"

Inara smiled, "No," she said, "you wouldn't."

He sighed, hugged her more tightly to him. "I don't understand."

"You're not lost," Inara said, "You're exactly where you should be."

"He's a lucky man," Jonathan moved his hand, took the hair away from her nape and kissed her there.

"No," Inara replied, "not at all."

She could feel Jonathan against her back, his lips on her skin; he was alive, and warm and whole. But she lay still, looking out at the darkness.

* * *

"You son of a bitch."

Mal just twitched a smile at him. "Ain't never said otherwise."

They were in Trip's cabin; it was still early, Alpha shift wouldn't start for at least two hours. Trip had woken up to find Mal already dressed, preparing to leave.

Trip glared at him, yanking on his discarded uniform. He didn't feel like having a fight in his skivvies. "What was this?" He demanded, gesturing at the rumpled bed, "gettin' your rocks off?"

Mal looked mildly surprised. "Wasn't it?"

Trip stopped dead, only one sleeve pulled up, staring at the man. The _Serenity's_ captain stared back coolly, blue eyes flat and empty as the sky. Something had disappeared from them; something welcoming and real. It had been there last night: Trip remembered it. It had felt like coming home.

This was like ghosts. Mal was still in the room: his voice, his movement, everything, but it was as if part of him were already gone.

Trip pulled on his other sleeve, zipped up his uniform. He was suddenly cold. "I thought we had a connection."

Mal's expression held somewhere between anger and bewilderment. "My ship is leavin' in about twelve hours."

"That's twelve hours," Trip shot back, "you're actin' like you're leavin' now."

"What did you expect, Trip?" Mal asked, his eyes dark, "that I'd stay _here?_ " He gestured at the walls around them, "with _you?_ Are you really that gorram naïve?"

The sudden shock of hurt felt like enough to choke him, but Trip let none of it show on his face. "I never figured you'd stay," he said quietly, "but I thought—" he hesitated, feeling now that he was betraying himself, revealing so much. Mal just looked at him, expression completely shuttered. "I thought you wanted this as much as I did," Trip continued finally, "I thought you'd want to be with me, for as long as we had."

Mal gave a bark of laughter. "And do what? Reminisce about the last forty-eight hours? Whinge about all the moments we ain't never gonna have?" He crossed his arms. "I told you last night, you were makin' a mistake."

Trip glowered. "The mistake ain't mine."

"I ain't the one standin' here bleatin'."

That hurt, too. Trip crossed his arms; mostly so Mal wouldn't see how tightly he clenched his hands. "It's not a mistake to care about someone."

Mal just shook his head. "Yes it is," he said, "it always is. The sooner you learn that, the better."

"What about your crew?"

Mal shrugged, "I protect what's mine."

"And that's it?" Trip asked, amazed; horrified, "that's all?"

"That's all I have," Mal said, "the rest got burnt out a long time ago."

"I'm sorry," Trip said. And he was.

"Don't waste your time."

They just looked at each other, the space in the room like a chasm between them; like a universe. Mal stood: implacable, untouchable as the frozen space outside, a void where once a man had stood. A few hours had stolen him like death.

And Trip felt his heart breaking. But not for himself, not for himself at all.

"If you keep on puttin' up walls," he said at last, "one day you might get lost behind 'em."

Mal's smile was distant and cold. "At least I'll know where I am."

"You should go," Trip said then, "my shift starts soon, and you'll want to get to your ship." He kept his voice neutral.

Mal gave him an impersonal nod. "I'll see you this afternoon, then." Trip watched him leave his quarters, the door slid shut behind him.

Then he sat on the bed and put his face in his hands.

* * *

"You have done very well with the meditation."

"Thank you," River said. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor of T'Pol's quarters. She liked it here; the light was soft and calm. "It helps a little, helps everything stay in place."

"That is as I anticipated," T'Pol said, "you should continue practicing when you are aboard the _Serenity._

"I don't want to leave," River said quietly. She looked around the room, trying to take everything into her mind. "I feel like a person here," she said, "like me, like I'm real again. Like things won't move after I touch them, won't change to anything else." She drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. "Everything changes over there," she said, "you can't trust things, can't trust them to stay."

"Perhaps you and your brother could remain on _Enterprise._ "

"No," River smiled sadly, shook her head. She reached out to the candle on the low table, warmed her palm over the flame. T'Pol looked at her steadily but said nothing. "Everything has sparks," she said, "take away too many and the light goes out." She looked back up at the Vulcan. "Things have to stay where they belong."

T'Pol tilted her head slightly, considering. "I believe that it is possible to have more than one place to belong."

"Yes," River nodded seriously. She moved her hand from the candle, "this is your place," she said, patting the floor just next to her foot, "you know that." She smiled again, " _Serenity_ is mine. It has the right name."

T'Pol leaned forward and blew out the candle. She picked it up with both hands and held it out to River. "This will help you to remember our lessons," she said, "I would like you to have it."

River took the candle. It was still warm. She sniffed it delicately, "cinnamon," she said.

"I find the scent helps me to focus," T'Pol said.

River smiled. "Cinnamon reminds me of home."

* * *

Hoshi and Book sat together in _Serenity's_ kitchen, sharing breakfast.

"So, tell me about this young man of yours," Book said.

"I wouldn't exactly call him 'mine,'" Hoshi said, "we haven't really started going out yet."

Book raised his eyebrows over his tea. "You looked awfully cosy yesterday during the briefing."

Hoshi blushed, "don't tell Malcolm that you noticed. He'd be horrified at being caught acting so unprofessionally."

Book chuckled, then looked serious. "Is he treating you well?"

She smiled, "He's thoughtful; considerate. Yes he treats me well. Very well." She paused, looked down. "Sometimes it's almost frightening."

"Oh?" Book said, "I thought being treated well would be a good thing."

"It is," Hoshi agreed, "it's just…" She let her voice trail off.

Book took another sip of tea, waiting.

"It's strange, sometimes." Hoshi continued finally, "I mean, he's so mature, and pulled-together. And brave. He's always putting himself in danger for the crew." She fingered a piece of toast, laughed softly. "I'm none of those things."

"And here I thought Malcolm was so pulled-together," Book said. He took a bite of eggs. "Mmmm," he sighed, "I do love your food."

"We should see if we can send you off with some," Hoshi said. She looked at Book, "he is pulled together."

"Not if he wants to go out with someone who is so cowardly and immature." Book said. He took another bite, smiled innocently.

Hoshi rolled her eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" Book's eyes crinkled.

"It's just," she said, "sometimes I don't think I deserve him."

"Isn't that up to Malcolm to decide?" Book said seriously.

Hoshi played with her cup. "What if he changes his mind?"

"Nothing is ever certain," Book said, "it's easier to look for the bad things to happen, then accept the good." He smiled kindly, "Malcolm is a good man. You should enjoy what you have for as long as you have it."

"It's so hard not to worry," Hoshi said, "I'm afraid the minute I relax, start to believe he really cares about me, that's the minute it will all vanish." She tried to smile, failed.

"That's where faith comes in," Book said.

"Faith in God?" Hoshi asked.

"Faith of the heart," Book replied, "faith in Malcolm's love, and faith in your worthiness of that love."

Hoshi's lips curved up, "I think we've had this conversation before."

Book looked at her for a moment, thinking. He got up from the table. "I'd like to give you something, I'll be right back." Hoshi nodded, and Book disappeared down a corridor.

He was back in moments, and took his seat. "Here," he said, and Hoshi took the offered object from his hand.

"It's beautiful," She breathed. It was a small wooden cross on a leather thong. The cross was simple and well-loved; stained with the oil of many hands.

"I want you to use this as a reminder of faith, and the place it has in all our lives." Book said.

"But it's so old," Hoshi said, "I wouldn't feel right taking it from you."

Book smiled, "I think it's time the cross had a new home," he said. "I want you to have it."

Hoshi enfolded the cross her hand and held it to her chest. "I'll treasure it always," she said, "thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled, he looked at her plate. "Are you going to finish your toast?"

* * *

"All right," Trip Tucker said, "this'll be the order of events:" He began counting off on his fingers, bending his left thumb back. "You're goin' to take the _Serenity_ to these exact coordinates; you've got 'em on your screen now."

"Under the dinosaurs," Wash said.

"Yeah, under the plastic dinosaurs," Trip agreed. He cracked a tiny smile. "Y'sure you're with me here, Wash? You up for this?"

"Like a rosebud, high on the vine," Wash assured him. He tried to keep his expression sober, but the pun in the word 'high' struck him as just way too funny and he couldn't help grinning. "Totally with you, Commander. Sir. Right with you. Way up." He began giggling.

"Honey," Zoë said. She was holding his good hand. The pressure of her fingers increased until he stopped giggling, looked at his wife. "We really need you to pay attention here."

"I'm paying attention," Wash told her, schooling his features as best he could. "I really am, I promise."

It was late afternoon. They were on _Serenity's_ small bridge, which right now was really crowded. Trip and another guy with the name Malcolm were standing in front of the main helm, with half of _Serenity's_ crew packed in as the audience. Only Inara, Book, Jayne and Simon were absent, with little or nothing to do with what was happening next. Simon was on _Enterprise_ with Dr. Phlox, apparently discussing his continuing care. Which wasn't funny, but kind of made Wash want to laugh anyway.

He wasn't sure what drugs Phlox had injected him with, but he was beginning to think he'd gotten a little too much. The meds had given him an almost palpable barrier against the pain of his still-healing burns; it was like he was floating above it, somewhere, his mind not quite connected to his body. He could feel the pain though, still: like a presence waiting underneath for him, restless as an animal. He had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy it much when the drugs wore off.

In the mean time, though, he felt great. His heart was beating a little too fast, and he felt almost hyper-alert, like he'd just O.D.'d on caffeine. Giddy, almost euphoric. He was thrilled at the idea of being in the pilot's seat again.

But this was important, and he was paying attention. He was. Really, he was.

"Watch the hole, Wash," River said softly behind him. He wasn't entirely sure why the girl was there, but he didn't turn around; because he was paying attention.

"Great," Trip said, though Wash thought his smile was a little wan. "Okay, we'll wait until you get to the coordinates, then fire three torpedoes in rapid succession. In theory, this should re-open the wormhole that brought y'all here, allowin' you to get back."

"In theory," Mal said dryly. He was standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the back wall of the room beside the doors. "What if it don't work? I'm a mite worried about the proximity of those torpedoes."

"Well, it ain't like we'll be aimin' for you," Trip said, a little nastily, in Wash's opinion. He wondered if Mal had done anything to piss the _Enterprise's_ commander off, thought about asking Zoë, then remembered he was actually paying attention.

"Good t'hear," Mal said, "but there ain't no accountin' for accidents."

"That's where the hull polarization will come in," said Malcolm-the-Second. He sounded kind of like Badger, which was pretty neat. He also had a black eye for some reason, which Wash thought made him look like a pirate. Malcolm gestured at another portion of the helm consol, where there was a new tangle of wires and a small screen of some sort that definitely didn't come from _Serenity._ "I've set the polarization to come on as soon as your proximity sensors detect the first torpedo. According to our research, it should offer sufficient protection against the energy wave from the wormhole." He smiled, "it will also serve more than adequately against _Enterprise's_ torpedoes. Of course," he added," I can assure you they will not come near enough to _Serenity_ to cause concern."

Mal said nothing, and Wash risked a quick glance over his shoulder at him. His captain was just nodding coldly, like he was daring the other Malcolm to even try aiming anything in his direction. Mal's expression reminded Wash of some of the worse fights they'd had, which somehow struck him as nearly hilarious, though he was fairly sure they hadn't been so funny at the time.

"What happens with this polarization stuff afterwards, when we're through the wormhole?" Wash asked. He was secretly pleased that he had managed such a good question. He was acing this paying attention stuff. He was still finding it hard to believe that while he'd been trying to outrun a Reaver ship he'd somehow managed to steer them into a whole different universe. Zoë wasn't having any problem with the concept though, which was good enough for him. He squeezed her hand gently, and she gave him a small squeeze back. He bent his head until he was leaning on her shoulder, looking up at her face. "You're so wonderful," he said, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby," she murmured, "now shut up."

"You won't have to turn it off," Malcolm-Two said when Wash was finally quiet, "it's been designed to shut-off automatically after two hours; after which you won't be able to turn it on again."

"How're we gonna get rid of it?" Kaylee asked. There was something different about her, Wash thought, then he realized she didn't have grease on her face. "Do we have to do anything special? How deep is it integrated into _Serenity's_ systems?"

"It might take you a few days to get rid of all the wirin'," Trip said, "but it won't interfere with any other systems. You can just recycle the stuff if you want."

"So," Zoë said, "all we have to do is make sure we're in the right place, then wait for you to fire torpedoes at us? That's it?" Wash knew she had only asked that to make sure he understood what was going on.

"Yep," Trip nodded, "that's it. Pretty simple."

"Beauty in simplicity," River said.

"As long as it works," Mal snarked.

"It'll work," Trip snarked back.

"Do they know each other?" Wash asked Zoë, "'cause by the way they're snipping, I'd say they know each other pretty well."

"Hush," Zoë said.

"Well," Malcolm-Redux said in that terrific accent, "unless there are any questions, we should get under way." He turned his attention to Mal-Prime. " _Serenity_ should be ready to approach the wormhole in approximately four more hours."

"Good," was all Mal said. He was the first to leave.

"Well," Wash said to Zoë, "I'm glad to see he's his usual genial self, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy-like."

Trip came towards him and Zoë, looking at him critically. "Y'all don't have to leave today," he said, speaking mainly to Zoë, "I know Phlox'd be happier to keep Wash in Sick bay another day or so, make sure he's in better shape before headin' back."

Concern flashed through Zoë's eyes. She turned to face him. "We all know Mal wants to leave yesterday Wash, but I'm not gonna let him force you to pilot unless you're feelin' all right." She put her hand on his chest, careful to make sure her palm was above the burns. "It's up to you. Are you good for this?"

"I feel fine," Wash said. He did. Chemically-enhanced fineness, but fineness all the same. "I can take this bucket wherever you want."

"That's my man," Zoë said. She leaned in and kissed him gently on the unburned side of his face. She turned back to the commander, "we'll leave today."

* * *

They were gathered in the cargo bay, in front of _Serenity's_ open hatch; all of _Serenity's_ and most of the bridge crew were there, saying their farewells. It was early evening.

"So, I guess this is good-bye," Jon smiled. He touched her face, letting his fingertips trace the curve of her cheek.

"Yes," she said. Her smile was sad, her dark eyes fathomless.

"I still wish you could stay." Jon said, "You're sure you want to leave?"

Inara smiled, "you know my answer."

Jon gave a low chuckle. "Just thought I'd ask."

"Here," she said, pressing a small cloth bag into his hand, "I thought you might like this."

Jon looked down at the parcel, looked up. "May I?"

Inara nodded, "Please."

Jon opened the package carefully, loosening the cord that held it shut. A soft aroma reached his nostrils. He looked up at her, smiling quizzically, "Tea?"

"Yes," Inara said, "my favourite blend. I find it particularly soothing."

"Thank you," he said, "I'm sure I'll enjoy it." He brushed her lips with his thumb. "I won't forget you."

"I'll won't forget you, either." She replied, "It's been wonderful."

"Safe journey home," Jon said, he kissed her lightly.

"Safe journey," she said. She turned gracefully and walked up the ramp into _Serenity._ Jon watched her until she was out of sight.

Jon sighed, turned to look at where the two doctors were talking. Wash, _Serenity's_ pilot, was standing between them, nodding every once in a while.

"And be sure to destroy the hyposprays once you've used them." Jon heard Phlox say as he approached the group, "they are disposables, but no sense letting them corrupt your side of the fence, hmm?

Simon smiled tolerantly, "Don't worry doctor," he said, "we have very similar technology. I'll make sure they're destroyed."

"So, I'm good to go?" Wash asked. He bounced on the balls of his feet, "I'm itching to get this show on the road."

Jon smiled at him, put out his hand, "You must be Wash," he said, "I'm Jonathan Archer, Captain of _Enterprise,_ we haven't had a chance to meet."

Wash smiled back, took his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Captain," he said, "thanks for saving my life."

"I wish I could take all the credit, but it was Phlox here who did all the work," Jon gestured at the doctor, "but I'm glad my crew could help." He turned to Simon, "So, doctor," he said, "are you ready to go home?"

"Yes," Simon said, "but I'm grateful for all you've done for us." He smiled, "it's reassuring to know that there's good people out here."

Jon smiled at him, "Likewise," he clapped Simon on the shoulder, nodded at Wash. "Take good care of yourselves," he said, winked. "I don't want to have to see you guys again."

"Take care, Captain," Wash called as Jon left to join another group.

* * *

"You're sure Wash understands what he needs to do?" Malcolm asked, nodding at her husband with his chin. Wash was standing with Dr. Phlox and Simon, talking to Archer. She caught his eye, and they smiled at each other. Zoë turned back to Malcolm.

"He'll be fine," Zoë said, "I know my husband. He's the best there is. He told me he can do it, and I believe him."

Malcolm nodded. "That's good. I'd hate to think I was sending you off unprepared."

"You ain't," Zoë smiled, "don't worry. That's Wash's job." She looked at Malcolm's face, cocked an eyebrow. "Nice shiner."

"Your handiwork, I believe." Malcolm smiled.

"Not bad, if I do say so myself," Zoë said. She put her hand on his face, touching the bruise briefly with her thumb. "You didn't deserve that."

Malcolm gave a nonchalant shrug, "I've had worse." He spoke seriously, "it's been a while since I've been challenged in a fight."

"Happy to oblige," Zoë grinned. "You're no slouch yourself."

"It's been a pleasure, Zoë," Malcolm said, "Godspeed."

"Good-bye, Malcolm." Zoë said, "and thank you." She walked to _Serenity's_ ramp to join her husband.

Wash stood at the end of the ramp, looking across the hold to where Malcolm was standing, "That's the lieutenant, right?" Wash asked, "the guy that sounds like Badger?"

"That's right," Zoë said, "doc says you ready to go?"

"Up, up and away!" Wash giggled. He grabbed her hand, kissing her palm, "I love you," he said, "you're the best wife ever."

Zoë laughed, "I hope that's not just the drugs talkin'."

"Nope!" He grinned.

She took his unburned elbow, "C'mon baby, we got a ship to fly." She started leading him into the hold.

Wash turned to her, "Wait," he said, "you touched him. Why'd you touch him?"

"'Cause I blacked his eye."

"Oh," Wash said, "well, that's okay." He looked at her, "tell me the story later?"

"Every bit," she smiled.

They entered the ship together.

* * *

Mal watched as _Serenity's_ crew slowly made their way aboard. Kaylee was crying something fierce as she hugged the _Enterprise's_ helmsman, then turned and dashed inside like she would change her mind if she stayed a second longer. He watched the helmsman leave the cargo bay, clearly holding in tears of his own.

Simon and Jayne entered _Serenity_ together, laughing at some private joke. Mal was glad the two of them were finally getting along. Made things a mite easier. Book hugged the small Asian woman, shook hands with that British lieutenant and Archer, then also made his way inside. They nodded at each other as Book passed him. The lieutenant and the Asian woman left the cargo bay together, holding hands.

Trip was nowhere in sight. Mal hadn't expected him to be, but he still looked for him anyway, was still disappointed when he didn't find him.

Archer made his way up the ramp and came to stand facing him. "Mr. Reynolds," he said formally.

Mal nodded, "Captain."

"All set?" Archer asked.

"Yep," Mal replied, "you ready?"

"Yes," Archer smiled. "T'Pol is on the bridge, preparing now."

"Good t'hear." Mal said. They looked at each other for a moment. Mal cleared his throat. "I want to thank you, captain," he said, "for everythin' you've done to help me and my crew."

Archer inclined his head, "That's what we're out here for."

"I didn't see Trip," Mal said, "to thank him for all his help with the engine. I'd be obliged if you could pass that on."

"I'm sorry he couldn't be here himself," Archer said, "I'm sure he would've wanted to say good-bye."

"Well, be sure to tell him my thanks." Mal said. He looked back into his ship, "Got a lot of things to do."

"I'm sure." Archer said, "I'll leave you to it then." He extended his hand, "take care."

"Thanks," Mal said, shaking his hand, "you too."

River came up the ramp. She was clutching a candle.

"Be careful how you light that," Mal said to her as she approached, "flame's no good on a ship."

"Boom." River smiled. She turned to Archer, touched his chest. "Time to go," she said.

Archer smiled at her, "take care of your brother."

River grinned, "He's okay now." She patted his chest with the flat of her hand, "it'll all be okay." She stood on tip-toe and kissed Archer's cheek, then turned to her captain, "Come on, Mal," she said, "we gotta go now." She went into the ship, turning to look at Mal over her shoulder before disappearing inside.

"You heard her," Archer smiled, "I'd better get to the bridge." He walked down the ramp, back onto _Enterprise._

Mal took one last look around, then turned and entered his ship.

* * *

"They're away," Malcolm said, looking at the consol of his tactical station, "three minutes to torpedo launch."

"Hold our course," Jon said to Travis, "any sign of the wormhole?"

"I'm reading fluctuating energy patterns consistent with their entry vector," T'Pol said. She was bent over her viewer.

"On screen," Jon ordered, and Hoshi pulled up an image of the ship. It looked tiny against the backdrop of so many stars.

"Two minutes," Malcolm said.

The bridge was quiet, waiting.

"On my mark," Malcolm said at last, "three…two…one…fire!" Three torpedoes sped away from the _Enterprise_ in rapid succession, heading straight towards the little ship.

"Hull polarization's on line," Trip said from behind Jon, "so far, so good."

The torpedoes exploded, raining _Serenity_ with flashes of debris. They small ship shook slightly, then regained its position.

"And here she comes," Trip said. A blue circle of energy appeared, looking like a tunnel with no visible ending point. _Serenity_ aimed right for its centre. In an instant, it was gone. The hole closed up around it, as if it had never been. The screen showed nothing but dark and stars.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Malcolm said.

"They're gone." Travis said. He sounded sad.

"I hope they made it," Hoshi said.

"They did," Trip replied, "no question."

Jon sat in his chair, leaned back. "Where to next, T'Pol?"

"There is a minshara-class planet roughly ten light-years from here, captain," she said, "I'm transferring the co-ordinates."

"Set a course, Travis" Jon said, "let's see what's out there."

* * *

It was late. _Serenity_ was powered-down for the night; everyone else was sleeping.

Mal walked quietly through the corridors, listening to the sound of his boots against the deck. He passed the infirmary. He'd have to do something about that broken window. He looked through the window to see Wash sleeping quietly, his face relaxed, his skin finally a more normal colour. He'd done a fine job, getting them back safe and sound.

He passed the empty kitchen. There were several packages on the counter, silver packs from _Enterprise:_ mostly freeze-dried fruit and vegetables. A gift from Hoshi, Book had told him. Kaylee had been happy enough that she had actually stopped crying over the helmsman for a few minutes. Until the fruit had reminded her of him, and she was off again.

He trailed his hand along the wall, feeling the familiarity of the rough metal, the uneven seams beneath his palm. It was good to be home.

He knew he should feel happy. He wanted to be.

He found himself on the stairs, leading up to Inara's shuttle, found himself climbing them. Her light was on, and he knocked.

"Come in," she called, like she knew he'd be there. He entered. Looked at her.

"How you doin'?" he asked, "survive the trip back okay?"

She smiled, "It wasn't nearly as rough as the first time, and not as frightening," she added, "since we all knew what was happening."

Mal nodded. "That's real good."

Inara looked at him, patted the couch beside her. "Come," she said, "sit."

Mal sat. Let his forearms rest on his knees, stared at the carpet on her floor. He didn't say anything.

"Broken heart still hurts, hey?" she said.

Mal said nothing.

"I know," Inara said, "I know."

She put her arms around him. He let her.


End file.
